


The Do-over

by Mrstserc



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Bullying, De-Aged, Depression, Gen, Past Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, cursing, talk of underaged prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 29,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrstserc/pseuds/Mrstserc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Be careful bargaining with fairies, but Dean hadn't even realized he was when he said if he could have anything he wanted it would be time and money.<br/>Slight spoilers as this takes place after ep. 8.11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I respectfully acknowledge that I own no rights to Supernatural or any of its characters.

Sam sits examining the kid in the bed next to him in the pale light of early morning creeping through the curtains of this crappy Corpus Christi motel room near the beach. Obviously, there’s something wrong. This second bed should hold his brother, and he’s looking this kid over because he has a sneaky suspicion that …

The kid, probably a boy but at the early teen androgynous stage, so who knows, has honey blonde hair just a little longer and a couple shades lighter than his brother’s razor cut spikes. It looks soft, like his cheeks that are without any stubble or even peach fuzz, skin pink and white with a scattering of light brown freckles over the bridge of his nose. The kid’s not wearing any puppy fat though, kind of a skinny kid. Hard to tell under the covers but Sam guesses maybe 5’5”.

When they open, Sam sees eyes that look like some kind of Japanese anime…too big, too round, too green. Lashes so full and dark that he looks like he is wearing mascara. Soft, pink, full lips, pursed and scowling at him.

“..the hell, Sam. Why you staring…” Dean’s eyes go wider as he realizes the sounds coming out of his mouth are too soft and sweet to be his morning growl. “Why do you look like a kid?” The startled voice squeaks and Dean sits up.

Sam, alerted by his brother’s words, stands up and looks in the mirror. He looks like he’s back in college. Same height, but skinny with limbs that look as coordinated as a baby giraffe’s. His bangs fall into his eyes.

Dean climbs out of the bed, making a quick grab at the waistband of his boxer briefs, his t-shirt hanging like a tunic, he too turns toward the mirror.

“Ugh, I … Sam. I…” Dean’s mouth is opening and closing like a fish on land. “I look like a … holy frik, Sam … I’m a kid!” Dean is watching his reflection as he runs one hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes, moving closer to the mirror as he turns his head one way then the other. He sinks into the chair at the desk in front of the mirror, shaking his head and visibly trembling.

Sam has been watching, doing the same reflection checks as his brother. “What are you, like 12?” Sam has a hard time placing Dean’s age because Dean has always seemed so big and grown up in comparison to him that Sam forgets how young he was when he was raising him. They both check, and the anti-possession tattoos are still in place. Dean still has a hand branded on his shoulder as well; and while he is looking, Sam starts checking out the scars his brother’s back is already carrying.

Dean brushes off Sam’s hands when he tries to lift the shirt again, before it can become an issue they are both distracted. From near the door a woman’s voice startles them both. “Dean Winchester. My debt has been paid. You now have time and money.” She sets a briefcase on the room’s kitchen area table. “I have granted you twenty years and your brother ten, as you said there would be no reward in living longer without your brother by your side. Be at peace…” She’s gone then, gone before either can react.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice is full of warning. “Explain this.”

They both are happy to find their memories intact. They both remember arriving in Corpus Christi three days ago. A guy who had known their dad once upon a time and now owns this motel called to ask for help. Some kind of canines were terrorizing visitors to the city’s beach area.

Once they got there, they found spirit wolves and they used Native American Indian charms to dispel them. The guy invited them to stay awhile, what with the end of January being a slow time of year on Texas’s Gulf Coast. To the boys, weather in the 70s was downright balmy. Besides with free housing and no pressing need to be somewhere else, they figured they could use some down time.

Yesterday when Sam was immersed in his computer, Dean got bored and went out walking on the beach.

“So I’m on the beach, just sitting in the shade by some dunes, watching some kids fly kites.” Dean is explaining to Sam, leaving out that he just needed to get away from his brother, who except for a brief LARPing battle has been kind of depressing. Dean also doesn’t talk about how heavy his heart feels since Cas left, telling them “thank you for everything” in a tone that just makes Dean remember those same words said to him in Purgatory. Cas used to go to parks and watch kids play, Dean recalls.

“And then what, Dean?” Sam prompts him.

Dean catches himself drifting and remembers his place in the story. “Some kid’s kite crashed. I helped him fix it. His mom thanked me. Then, another lady, that one who was just here, asked me if I would help her. Her kite strings were tangled in this, like, wrought iron fence behind a house. I just untangled her kite. Nothing big.” Dean’s face in scrunched in an almost familiar style – if the face weren’t so young - as he pulls from his memory.

“I thought maybe she was, like, a foreign tourist or something. You know. Her tone of voice and words are kind of stilted,” Dean explains. “And I thought she was flirting with me, to be honest, when she asked me what I would accept as a reward. Anyway, she said ‘If you could have anything what would you want?’ And I said something about the same thing everyone wants, time and money.” Dean finishes, looking to see Sam’s reaction. “Are you thinking witch?” Dean asks.

Sam snorts. “Not with that disappearing act. Nah, I’m going to look into it, but I’m thinking some kind of Fae or something like that. Maybe air elemental…” Sam trails off, remembering that not everyone can see the Fae, but since Dean was once abducted by them he can. He jots some notes into his journal, treating this like a case.

“You know Dean, you have to be careful about asking fairies for things. They like to mess with people.” Sam is lecturing as he pops open the briefcase.

Dean doesn’t appreciate his brother’s pedantic tone, “Didn’t realize I was bargaining, Sam. I was just talking to some lady, who I just now figured out may not even have been visible to anyone but me. If I thought I was making a bargain, I’d’ve put it differently…I meant a long life, not a do-over.”

Sam spins the case to face Dean. “Not quite a do-over,” Sam says. “This time we won’t be poor, Dean. There must be a million dollars in here.” Sam has been taking out stacks of 100 dollar bills, bearer bonds, and traveler’s checks.


	2. Chapter 2

First thing's first, but Dean and Sam have different ideas of what that should be. Dean wants to hunt this fairy and get re-aged, now, as in immediately. The more he thinks about being in this body that's too young to drink, drive, or have sex, the more he feels trapped and punished, not rewarded. Sam has somewhat different priorities.

"Dude, you're dressed worse than a homeless street kid. We've gotta get you some clothes that fit before some kind person turns me in to child protective services. Can't have you ending up in foster care, now can we?" Sam is trying to be patient with Dean who is going into panic mode. He's also trying not to laugh at him, and the whole wanting to laugh feels new and strange, and bubbly. Life has not been so carefree since, well, a really long time. "This isn't a tragedy, Dean. It could be a blessing."

Dean has on a pair of gym shorts he used to sleep in sometimes. They offered an incentive of a drawstring, so they stay up, but they are baggy and hang to mid-calf. Unfortunately, the waistband is still too loose to allow Dean to tuck a gun into it. He tried. Sam nixed the idea of his hunting knife too, saying it was too obvious on his thin frame.

Dean has his smallest, oldest, t-shirt on, a Zeppelin one he has had forever. It is so thin that it's more like a memory of a shirt than a real one. And Sam points out, it's practically transparent. The crowning accomplishment on this motley assortment is the too big boots with toilet paper stuffing the toes so they stay on.

Looking in the mirror, Dean begrudgingly admits he could accomplish more if he were somewhat better dressed. "But not a lot of stuff, Sam. I refuse to stay this way. Blessing my butt."

There are websites of the strange attire of some Wal-Mart shoppers, so Sam figures Dean's photo may now be amongst them, but mission accomplished, so who cares. And Sam now has a memory file of what sizes Dean needs from the inside out. It's nice to be able to buy what they need without worrying about cost, so Sam grabs a few things that fit him a bit better too.

For the next step, Sam insists on moving into a hotel, saying staying where they were would cause talk. He makes arrangements to stay a week while Dean is changing clothes in the Wal-Mart bathroom. Still waiting, Sam puts in a call to their friend Charlie Bradbury, who agrees to come help create identities. "I am on my way because, this I gotta see," she hoots.

As Sam hangs up, Dean stomps out of the bathroom, looking angry and embarrassed. "Let's get out of this place, Sam. It's full of frikkin' perverts."

Sam is torn but follows along behind his little older brother. "Tell me what happened, Dean. Is it something you need me to take care of?" Sam's worry register shoots sky high. He is not used to being the protector.

"No. I handled it. I have been taking care of myself, and you, since before I was this size the first time," Dean grouses. "Don't go trying to get all mother-henny at me." Dean goes to the Impala like he's going to get in the driver's door, rethinks, and clumps his way over to the passenger side muttering.

Sam waits until Dean buckles his seatbelt, takes a deep breath as he starts the car, and calmly asks his brother to explain what just happened. "I know you're used to handling everything on your own, but I'm here and I'm adult-sized. That means you don't have to, Dean. If we are partners, I need to know what's going on, okay, Dean? So spill. Did someone try to touch you?"

"Bad touch me? Hell, no, Sam. No dead perverts left behind us." Dean turns to his brother. "Just some creep peeping through the cracks in the stall as I got changed…he said some stuff, but he was gone before I was dressed enough to go after him."

Sam waits to see if Dean was going to offer more details. Sighs, wondering why he thought a younger-bodied Dean might be more open. "What was he saying, Dean?"

Dean glares at him. "Just can't leave it alone, can ya?" He huffs, not wanting to talk about how violated the incident left him feeling. "Fine, he was just … just whispering about how pretty he thought I was, mentioning, ummm, parts of me I prefer not to talk about to my little brother." Dean is trying to sound nonchalant, but Sam sees him crossing his arms protectively across his chest and the line of red circling the tops of his ears. "Reminds me. I need my knife back."

Sam sits fuming. He hadn't thought about pedophiles in quite a while. There was no need to, but he remembers some occasions as a kid that Dean took care of with men who were pushy or insistent; he figures it out, some of those were times Dean was younger than his current body appears. "You are kinda pretty," Sam mutters to his brother as he mulls over his thoughts. He's not prepared for Dean's reaction.

"Sam, Don't even say that, I just … I can't do this again, okay. And I don't want to talk about it. Let's just find this freaking fairy and make her change it back." Dean's lower lip is quivering and he bites it to make it stop. Sam sees his eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"You feeling okay, Dean? I mean, like your body and, I don't know, emotions, I guess? Like your usual self?"

Dean pushes his hair out of his eyes and peers up at his brother intently. "You mean did anything else get de-aged?" He stops to consider the question. "I don't know, Sam. I think maybe my emotions are more on the surface, you know? Like when everything seems to be harder to process, memories are harder to hide, or nerves are on the surface being rubbed raw … So, yeah. I may have the emotions of teenager. Is that what you want to know?" By the end, Dean's hissing the words at Sam.

Memories, like hell, purgatory, the deaths of everyone he loves. Cas leaving. Even memories of his life, how careful and guarded he has had to be of his feelings since he was four. His purpose in life, take care of his brother, hunt evil things. How was he supposed to do any of this in this useless, kid's body?

"How the hell am I supposed to do this," he asks quietly.


	3. Chapter 3

Age is just a number… and for the Winchesters, the dates on their birth certificates don’t reflect their experiences even before the fairy whammied them, or rewarded them depending on which brother you believe, by de-aging them.  Sam has asked their friend Charlie to fly to Corpus Christi and help set up new identities.

Charlie is all hugs when Sam opens the hotel room door, that is once she gets over her first impression. “Holy, crap, Sam! Well, you are still too tall, that’s for sure. And I love the haircut. Bangs suit your face,” Charlie starts her enthusiastic greetings by launching up into a hug as soon as the door to the hotel suite closed. “Now, where’s Dean. This, I gotta see.”

Dean is in the bedroom with the door closed listening to music with ear buds in, just trying to relax after the emotionally tiring experiences of shopping and talking about his feelings. His attitude devolved further when Sam made him move to the bed furthest from the door, the protected bed in Winchester family tradition… the little brother bed. He opens his eyes when Charlie bounces on the bed beside him, grinning back at her infectious smile. But at her first words, Dean turns grim.

“Aren’t you pretty?” Charlie asks, as Sam tries to get her attention gesturing wildly. “Damn, if we put a long wig on you, you’d look like Rapunzel the Disney princess.” She pats his cheek. “Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re still not my type.”

Dean is practically growling, in a softer pitch than he is used to. “Not funny,” he says as he stalks like an angry tiger cub past her into the living area of the suite Sam insisted they needed. He opens the apartment-sized refrigerator, calling over his shoulder to ask what their guest would like to drink.

His head pulls out of the refrigerator a moment later. “Where’s the beer, Sam?”

“We must have forgotten it,” Sam says. “Drink the milk I bought.” Dean makes a face.

Sam has taken Dean’s absence from the immediate vicinity as the walk down the small hall to whisperingly tell Charlie about the pedophile, asking her to lay off talking about how pretty Dean is for now. Charlie agrees immediately, and she figures she knows why Dean can’t find any beer. It seems to her that Sam is flexing his big brother muscles.

To head off a scene, she tells Dean she’d love a bottle of cold water. Dean carries three water bottles to the table where Charlie is setting up her laptops and a photo quality printer.

“So, we need names, birth certificates, a driver’s license, registration for the car, insurance policy,” Charlie is making notes on a pad of paper. “What else do we need?” Sam says they need some kind of custody paperwork, maybe death certificates of their fake parents, and school transcripts for them both.

How old they should be now is a matter of debate - long, loud debate – as Charlie works to create a paper trail making their current appearances match their new identities and paperwork. “Hey, I need a driver’s license, too,” Dean says, but both Sam and Charlie shake their heads at him. They say that Dean looks way too young to pull it off.

Dean gets very little that he requests from the paperwork, and threatens to kick Sam’s butt when the taller brother insists on a birthdate making Sam 21, almost 22, while setting Dean’s at just turned 14. “Bring it, Shorty,” Sam laughs while holding his shorter brother at arm’s length until Dean ducks from under his hand to walk away and plop down on the couch.

When Charlie is finished, Samuel John Singer, born May 2, 1991, has court ordered legal custody of his orphaned little brother, Dean Robert Singer, born Jan. 24, 1999. They have birth certificates, transcripts, and parent death certificates that - through Charlie’s stellar hacking ability - are embedded in South Dakota’s data banks. Charlie even has a laminator to make the driver’s license ready for use. She waives off Sam’s offer of any payment except travel reimbursement, and dinner. “I’m starving, Sam. I need food,” she says plaintively.

Dean’s stomach lets out an audible agreement; and Sam remembers that he hasn’t eaten or fed his brother lunch, and now it’s dinner time. Sam sighs to himself. Day one of being an older brother and he’s already falling down on the job. Looking at how thin his brother looks, Sam thinks back to the many times Dean said he wasn’t hungry growing up so that Sam could have more to eat. He wonders if hunger during his growing years affected how tall Dean ends up being, and resolves to pick up vitamins while he’s out.

“Pizza good?” Sam asks, getting a yes from Charlie and a stiff nod from Dean, who is still pissed off about the hand on the head thing. “Well, I’m going to order it and run by the grocery to pick up a few things. Anything else we need?”

Dean looks up at him hopefully. “Pie?” Sam nods. The happy smile on Dean’s face speaks of forgiveness, and Sam heads out after helping Charlie hook up a video game system. Charlie and Dean throw pillows on the floor of the living area and settle in to a night of video competition. Sam thinks she may be the best babysitter ever.

Later that evening, Charlie is sitting on the couch stroking Dean’s hair gently. He has fallen asleep with his head cushioned on her lap. Asleep, he looks angelic.

“He asleep?” Sam asks from in front of his laptop.

“Yeah,” Charlie answers softly. Dean had confided his worries to her when Sam was gone earlier, and while she had tried to comfort him earlier, Dean’s fears have infected her too. “Sam, earlier, why’d you have me put transcripts together for you?”

Sam looks over at her. “I’m thinking of going back to college.”

Charlie stills for a moment. “What about breaking this curse or spell, or whatever it is? I’m kind of worried about Dean here. He’s pretty miserable at the thought of being a teenager again.”

Sam moves over to perch on the coffee table in front of them. He reaches over to brush the hair from Dean’s forehead. “Well, first, we don’t know if we can even find her or make her change it. Second, why would it be so bad? We could live a normal life. I’ll look after him.” Sam catches her gaze. Sees she doesn’t agree with him. “We may not have a choice, you know.”

Charlie looks at Sam sadly. “I don’t think Dean has a choice either, Sam. I think he’s a hunter whether you want him to be or not.” She shakes her head at him. “I don’t think you should be trying to change who he is.”

Sam’s glare answers her. He gently lifts his brother to carry him to his own bed, telling her that he’ll bring back pillows and a blanket for her to use on the sofa bed. “I think this might be a chance for my brother to live longer, and to live safer than he has ever been as a hunter. I don’t want to squander this.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sam bolts upright in bed turning on the bedside lamp. There’s that noise again. Low, broken sounds of fear, not sobs, but plaintive stuttering. Whimpering. Sounds Sam had never heard coming from his big brother before - never wanted to hear because they spoke not just of pain and fear, but of sorrow and defeat. These aren’t emotions Sam wants to associate with Dean.

The light doesn’t wake Dean, and Sam checks the clock before moving to sit on the edge of Dean’s bed, almost 5 a.m.   
“Hey, Dean.” Sam rests his broad hand on his brother’s narrow back, feeling the bones of his spine clearly through the fabric of his t-shirt. “You okay?” Sam’s touch quiets Dean, and the boy’s body shifts slightly in his sleep to rest more firmly against the warmth of Sam’s palm. In half-remembered gestures of comfort, Sam makes shushing noises and rubs small circles on Dean’s upper back until Dean gives a contented sigh and seems to fall deeper into sleep. Sam watches and gets lost in thought.

Is it so wrong of him to want a better life for Dean or himself? Sam considers what Charlie said the night before as he glances down at his sleeping brother. Would living this bonus time be so horrible? He knows that Dean had spent so much of his life taking care of Sam, putting Sam’s needs in front of his own, obeying orders from their father… why can’t his brother just enjoy the opportunity they have right now? If he still wants to be a hunter, why can’t he just wait until he is older again? Yeah, Sam knows Dean was already a hunter at 14, but he shouldn’t have been. He should have had a chance to be a kid.

Dean should have had the chance to be the light in someone’s life; and while Sam has always loved his brother, he had been a kid himself and too selfish in his own needs to acknowledge his brother’s sacrifices. He could make up for it…for so much…if only Dean will let him.

Sam shuts off the alarm and heads for the shower. Charlie has an early flight scheduled and Sam has promised her a ride to the airport. 

When Dean wakes up a few hours later he is alone in the hotel. He stretches, surprised to feel how limber and pain free that motion is. After showering and throwing on new jeans and shirt, he pads softly into the kitchen to find a note from his brother.

Dean, There’s a breakfast of eggs and sausage in the refrigerator for you. You can heat it in the microwave. Don’t   
eat the pie for breakfast. Oh, and drink some milk. Take a vitamin, too. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Charlie  
says goodbye and she’ll talk to you soon. Stay here until I get back. Sam.

Getting bossy, Dean thinks, and taking his big brother status a bit too seriously instead of acknowledging it’s a temporary fluke. Dean snorts to himself as he makes coffee in the two-burner pot in the room and cuts himself a slice of the apple pie. He eats it and downs a glass of milk waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. When it does, he puts it into a mug and carries it to the table with the laptop, starting his research on fairies.

Not long into the research, Dean realizes that he was probably dealing with a sylph, an air elemental, who for some reason needed whatever that thing was that was tangled in the wrought-iron fence. Since fairies burn at the touch of iron, it needed help. Then he came along, could see her, and was willing to help. All the lore he has been able to find says that fairies don’t like the imbalance of owing favors. This one repaid him based on their conversation about what he wanted. Seems straightforward, not malicious, so Dean figures this sylph is part of the Seelie Court. Unseelie fairies are more likely to cause harm.

Dean misses Bobby, knowing the old hunter probably knew ways to call fairies and figuring it’s not going to be easy to find a book that takes this problem seriously. He figures they will find a summoning ritual and just ask the fairy to undo her reward. Might be nice if they could hang onto the money, though. Sam’s right that it does make life easier to not have to worry about how to pay for things. He wonders if Cas would come if he prayed, feeling the lurch of fear as he remembers the blood coming from the angel’s eyes last time he saw him.

“Cas, If you can hear me. I, ummm, I need you, Buddy, but you take care of what you need to do for you first. I’m not in life-threatening danger or anything. Just if you can, if you hear me, please, come.” Dean prays.

Glancing at the room clock, Dean is surprised to see it’s almost 11. He’s been researching for hours – and he’s starting to wonder where Sam’s gotten to. Plus, he’s feeling a little hemmed in. He takes a deep breath and decides he can remedy that by moving onto the balcony. Once he moves onto the table sitting in the sunny space overlooking the bay, he opens the search engines and gets engrossed trying to find answers to the fairy problem.

When Sam comes back right around noon, he brings lunch with him. Setting the takeout boxes on the table, he catches sight of the empty pie plate, the milk glass, and the unopened vitamin bottle. He figures that Dean did half what he asked of him, and shrugs to himself. He’s happy his brother stayed put when he was gone longer than he expected. He shakes a vitamin tablet out into his hand and carries it and a bottle of water over to Dean who rolls his eyes, but swallows it down.

“Where you been?” Dean demands, but accepts the excuse of errands as Sam hands him a bank card in his new name and a new cell phone. He listens as Sam explains that he has also made the Impala legal, and that it now has Texas plates. Sam doesn’t tell him that he has been in touch with a local university and a home rental agent too.

The brothers move inside and open their lunch containers. Sam’s is a Chicken Caesar salad, Dean notes, and then he’s surprised to open his and find the same thing. “I think your lunch place made a mistake, Sam. This is salad, too.”   
Sam makes a noncommittal noise. “It won’t kill you to eat something healthy,” he says.

Dean snorts, he can tell that this wasn’t a mistake on the part of the restaurant, but on his brother. He closes the salad and places it in the refrigerator, taking out his uneaten breakfast which he microwaves. He rejoins his brother at the table. “Don’t even think I’m going to start eating rabbit food.” Dean looks over at Sam’s lunch with disdain. “And don’t start trying to go all parental on me. I’m 34. I don’t need a dad.”

Raising his eyebrows, Sam looks at this younger version of Dean and thinking his brother needed to start accepting their new reality. Sam wonders how he can help him do that. He decides to leave that argument for later, concentrating on taking this one step at a time. “Learn anything in your research?”

Dean fills him in on his suspicions about what type of fairy they may be dealing with, and they agree to go back to the spot where Dean encountered the creature to look for clues. Sam figures that it won’t hurt to get them both outside, and he doesn’t want his brother to suspect that he is just going through the motions on this hunt.


	5. Chapter 5

The hotel is situated right on the beach in the city on Corpus Christi Bay, so the Winchesters leave the car where it is and trudge through the sand toward where Dean thinks he was when he saw the kite flyers. Dean doesn’t mean to be confused, but all he can remember is the beach, dunes, some houses down a little ways from the park. Unfortunately, there’s a lot of beach front in this city, and a surprising number of parks along it.

“Local legend says the U.S.S. Lexington in haunted, Dean. Do you think we should check it out as long as we’re here? There are houses along Ocean Drive that are supposedly haunted, too, and an abandoned theater.” Sam is trying to strike up a conversation with his brother. (His little, older-young brother, he thinks.)

Dean is too lost in his own thoughts to be paying much attention, and his non-responsive “um-hum” just serves to point that out even more. Dean is searching the shoreline looking for the wrought iron fence and trying to remember exactly where he was in relation to their current position. After another half-mile, Dean sinks to the ground. Sam sits beside him. “What’s wrong, Dean?” Sam moves closer to his brother so their arms are touching.

“How can I forget where this happened already, Sam? There’s got to be something wrong to make it so hard to find.” Dean pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his cheek on his knees, looking at his brother. “We may have to go back where we were staying and let me try to retrace my steps from there.”

“You sure it isn’t down just a little further?” Sam asks his brother, who looks so woebegone that he reaches to pull him in for a hug.

“Get off me, Sammy. No chick-flick stuff. “Dean is trying to push his bigger brother away, but failing miserably. Sam starts laughing and the next thing he knows, he has a highly-indignant wildcat of a little brother who has him in a headlock.

“Stop, frikkin’ trying to humor me and manhandle me, Sam. This whole situation is not funny,” Dean is yelling. Sam responds by standing up, wrapping the smaller body in his arms and walking into the water. He wades out a little until it’s deep enough that he knows his brother won’t get hurt and throws him in the bay.

Dean comes up sputtering and shivering. The temperature might be 74 degrees on this last day of January, but the water is more than ten degrees cooler. Sam watches him unrepentantly, though. For one thing, his shoes are soaked and his pants are wet above his knees, too. And Dean shouldn’t pick fights he can’t win. Speaking of fighting, his brother has his fists clenched and a determined look in his eyes as he comes out of the water. Sam decides that unless he wants to end up in a brawl with his brother, which would look really bad right now with him being ten inches taller, he better take defensive measures. He takes off running back toward the hotel with his shoes swishing water.

Once they get back to the room, Sam tells Dean to get a hot shower to warm up and takes a minute to change his clothes while Dean is doing that. He goes into Dean’s duffel and grabs out clean briefs and flannel pants for his brother, opening the bathroom door to drag out the wet things and leave the dry. Then he starts getting a load of laundry together figuring he shouldn’t have listened to Dean and gotten him more clothes to begin with. He looks up when his brother comes out of the bathroom and gasps.

Dean’s thin back and chest bear scars that Sam doesn’t remember. They are big and vivid, claw marks on his back and down his side, dwarfing the tattoo and handprint. Sam wonders how he will ever explain this to a pediatrician. Dean sees Sam staring and grabs a shirt, one from his older days, but he slips it on, averting his eyes from his brother’s as if he thinks if he doesn’t see Sam staring, his privacy’s intact.

Darting a look at his brother, Dean snaps “What?”

“I don’t remember the scars.” Sam tells him gently. “Can you refresh my memory, please?” Sam’s thinking back, straining to think of his brother at this age. He would have been nine. He thinks of some times he stayed with Pastor Jim or Bobby about this age, after he knew what the family business was but before he did anything except help research.

“Yeah, well, guess you better hope that I get my old body back soon, ‘cause otherwise someone’s gonna think I’m an abused kid.” Dean says turning away from Sam before seeing the look that crosses his face, the look that says Sam would say that too. “I let a Wendigo get too close on a hunt with dad. That’s the side. The back was a werewolf. I got sleepy when I was supposed to be watching. Got some broken bones too… poltergeist, vengeful spirit, and some damned witch.” Dean’s listing these things nonchalantly. “It’s a wonder dad ever made a decent hunter of me.”

Sam is breathing sharply, trying hard to hide how upset he is, and realizing that he can’t change any of it twenty years later. He’s swearing to himself that his brother will not get hurt again if he has any say in it. Forcing his voice to sound calm, Sam tells Dean they need to come up with a cover story just in case. Together they decide to say the scars are from a car accident, the same one that killed their dad. Sam decides he’ll deal with any broken bone issues when he has to.

Dean chuckles. “What will we tell anyone about the tattoo? Or the handprint?”

“We could say the tattoo is some kind of religious thing. Look’em in the eye and say it’s an anti-demon possession mark. Blame mythical dad for being a religious nut,” Sam suggests as he finishes getting the laundry together.

Dean agrees with that idea, and has a suggestion for the handprint. “If it comes up, let’s just say it’s a birthmark,” he grins. “We can say religious nut parents said it’s a mark from the angels.”

Sam laughs. “I thought that was the freckles.”

As he’s heading out, Sam tells Dean he’ll be back with clean clothes and dinner as soon as he can. “Pick up burgers, Sam, and beer,” calls Dean as Sam heads out, ignoring his brother’s stern glance.

The next couple hours Dean spends using Google maps checking every inch of the Corpus Christi Bay shoreline looking for a familiar landmark. He’s also pouring over descriptions of local libraries and lore, searching for places that might have arcane literature about fairies. And, because he was listening, he looks up the local ghost stories, figuring maybe he and his brother would take care of these while they are waiting around here to resolve the bigger issue.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N:. Dear readers – Will you please tell me if I need to change my rating? I’m a little concerned about some of the topics I’m bringing up and/or toying with. Also, Dean wants to cuss a blue streak right about now. Would a T-rating chase you away? Oh, and thank you for being such a nice supportive group.)

Sam was sitting at the table getting some work done and waiting for Dean, who was lying on the couch flipping through channels on the television, to fall asleep. The evening had been a little drama-filled from Dean over-reacting to the additional new clothes Sam had picked up for him when he was out shopping to the disagreement about dinner and the argument over drinking. Only the second full day of being the older brother, and Sam had wanted to strangle Dean.

“Sam, how difficult’s burgers and beer?” Dean had harangued him. “How does ‘burgers and beer’ come out sounding like Mexican food and this cat-piss sports drink in your head?”

It got worse when Sam told him he wasn’t getting any beer - ever - while he was adolescent-sized, then took away the Hunter’s Helper that Dean took out of their first aid kit. Knowing he couldn’t hide it from his brother, Sam emptied the bottle down the sink over Dean’s squawks of protest. If he wasn’t so determined to not be like his father, Sam would have tanned Dean’s hide and washed his mouth out with soap.

As for the Mexican food, they’re in South Texas. Sam had picked up dinner from Kiki’s Restaurant after reading the sign saying it was voted the best Mexican food in the city. So, okay, he figured he could get his brother to eat more vegetables if they were incorporated in chili sauce on enchiladas and in Mexican rice, but the food led to this latest show down. Dean was refusing to sleep in his bed, saying he wasn’t going to be in the same small space as his Sasquatch brother when said brother was full of beans.

Musing and messing around on the computer, refusing to engage in a childish argument with his brother, Sam didn’t realize when Dean finally fell asleep. The sounds of whimpering got his attention though. Sam listened, trying to hear any clues as to what was giving his brother nightmares – their past, present, hell, purgatory?  Any of the hundreds of nightmare situations they have found themselves in?

Except for saying it was pure; living in monster-land with every day a struggle to stay alive, Dean hasn’t told Sam much about Purgatory. Sam’s imagination has filled in a lot. As for Hell, well, the brother who had come back from Hell was a far different man than the one who went. Sam knows having these wounds in his head, especially when he admits that his emotions may have regressed along with his body, must be tough for Dean. He wishes his brother wasn’t trying to be so stubbornly stoic. Sam wishes Dean would talk to him, or at least agree to get help.

But how can he get help for him? Any shrink he tries will end up locking Dean, or both of them, in a loony bin.

With the sound of fluttering wings, Castiel is in the room. He looks at Sam, nods, but staggers when he sees Dean. Reaches out to find a chair and sits staring at the sleeping hunter. Sam is glad to see Cas; last they saw him he had blood coming out of his eyes and Samandriel lay dead at his hands, but he’s worried about, well, about whether Cas can miraculously fix a situation that Sam isn’t convinced needs fixing.

“Cas?” Sam calls softly. “Hey, should we wake Dean?”

Castiel shakes his head, places two fingers gently on Dean’s forehead sending him more deeply into a quiet sleep. He picks Dean up and carries him into the bedroom, knowing to place him on the bed furthest from the door. He leaves the door slightly ajar as he comes back into the living area.

“Hello, Sam. This is far worse than I imagined,” Castiel says, businesslike as usual. “I heard his prayers, but I did not hurry because he said he was in no danger. This, this is catastrophic. How can he defend himself against reprisals from Crowley as a child? How can he continue to fight against the forces of evil?”

Sam open his mouth to speak, to argue, whether it is indeed a catastrophe, but he is interrupted as Cas turns his blazing eyes upon him. “And how can you so nonchalantly be thinking of this as a, a do-over? A blessing in disguise? How can you pretend you are trying to safeguard him when you have not even warded this room?”

Sam’s mouth snaps shut, and he flinches when the truth in that barb flies home, but his eyes narrow as he prepares his response. He doesn’t get a chance for a while as Cas berates him with Dean’s hidden past.

Sam learns a lot in Cas’s rant. He learns about the last time Dean was this age. How often Dean stole, or went without, to keep Sam fed. How Dean did worse things, things he still does not allow himself to remember, to keep Sam in shoes that fit, in school clothes and winter coats, or under a roof when the motel money would run out when John was gone longer than expected. How Dean quit school to work because John was injured and someone had to feed and keep the family in shelter. How John would “discipline” Dean for Sam’s misbehaviors.

“Every time he looks in a mirror right now, this is what your brother sees, what he remembers, Sam. You must stop treating him like a child. He is a 34 year old man trapped in a body that brings a mountain of sorrows down on him.” Cas ends firmly. “How could you want to subject him to that?”

Sam sighs. “Of course I don’t want that for him, Cas. I never would have wanted any of that for him, but I don’t know how to fix what’s going on right now. And you and I know he’s older than he looks, but how am I going to convince anyone else of that?” Sam is standing now, towering over the angel who does not back off. “Instead of judging me for what I’m doing, why don’t you mojo us back into our bodies?”

The argument grows louder until a man in a neighboring room bangs on the wall and tells them to shut up before he calls hotel management. The resulting quiet allows them to hear the soft shuffling in the bedroom. Sam looks in to find his brother packing his duffel. Cas joins him at the doorway, and they are both subjected to the angry, tear-streaked face of the de-aged Dean, who glares and continues to pack.

“What do you think you’re doing, Dean?” Sam asks, reaching for his brother who backs away like he’s afraid to be touched.  Sam wrests the duffel from him. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Dean won’t meet his brother’s eyes, and when Cas crowds closer to him, Dean’s face is filled with betrayed anguish. “How could you tell him, Cas? How could you raid my memories like that, and just, just spill them out there for my little brother to see?” Dean is still backing away from the angel. “How am I supposed to live knowing what he must think of me now?” He half-sobs, trying to contain the avalanche of emotions.

“No, Dean. No…” Sam begins. “Nothing he said changes how I feel about you.” Sam is still trying to reach Dean, but Dean hears the sympathy in his brother’s voice and mistakes it for pity. He backs further away from Sam.

“Dean?” Castiel is moving closer, much like someone approaching an injured wild animal - and that is what Dean reminds Cas of right now. “I am sorry if your past embarrasses you,” he begins.

“Embarrass?” It’s almost shouted “Embarrass doesn’t cover it, Cas,” Dean gasps outs. “Mortifies…”

Sam’s heart feels like it may actually break in half. He has always known his brother kept things inside; he knows what low self-esteem his brother has despite his swaggering outer shell, and he now knows more clearly why. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to live with this knowledge either. How to go forward, especially if it is going to be up to him to keep his broken brother safe.

Cas reaches Dean then, and enfolds the trembling man in an embrace. He looks over his shoulder at Sam. “I’m going to take him somewhere safe for a moment, Sam. Somewhere remote, where he can rightfully rant and yell at me without concern about the neighbors. We will talk again in the morning, all three of us.”

With that Cas and Dean are gone, and Sam is left to sort through everything that was said. He looks around the room and begins laying the salt lines he never should have neglected. Do-over or not, he will find a way to make sure his brother knows how much Sam appreciates him.


	7. Chapter 7

Angel air is one of Dean’s least favorite modes of transportation, a close second to any other kind of actual flying, and Dean pushes away from Cas to find them both on a long strip of deserted beach, with no one and nothing in sight. Cas removes his overcoat and drapes it around Dean’s shoulders, both of the pretending the shudders from his body are in response to the breeze and not silent sobbing. But Cas moved them far south on the Padre Island National Seashore, and even close to midnight it is 65 degrees.

As his eyes adjust to the light of a waning moon, Dean finds a driftwood log and sits down. He pulls the too big coat more tightly around his slender form, pushing his arms into the sleeves. He brings his knees up to his chest, covering his bare feet with the coat. Cas thinks he is much like a turtle, pulling into his shell for protection.

Cas waits for Dean to compose himself enough to speak. He has been mentally kicking himself for revealing Dean’s dark secrets, and at the same time telling himself that Sam needed to be told the full horror that has been inflicted on his brother. He is preparing that argument in case Dean requests that he wipe the memory of what he just said from Sam’s mind. Dean clears his throat.

“So, you wanta go back and tell him every fucking humiliating act Alastair forced me to do? How good I got at it? Maybe give him some more details of my debasement?” Dean’s voice sounds as though he has swallowed gravel, like he has to force sound to come through his throat.

“But, I tell you honestly, Cas, I am not as ashamed of what I did in Hell as I am of what I did when I was a kid,” Dean’s voice sounds strangled, “prostituting myself. I don’t think you could have found a worse memory to bring into the light of day…” Dean trails off like he cannot even find enough energy to sustain his anger.

The angel manages to still even more, becoming like a statue as he considers what his friend has just revealed.

“Dean, there is no stain of dishonor on your soul for what you did to survive, for the sacrifices you made, as a child or in Hell. There never was. If this, indeed, is the basis of your low self-worth, we should root it out now. You did the best you could, always, for you and for your brother. I assure you, Sam will not love you any less…”

Dean cuts him off. “You don’t know that! He’ll look at me differently, Cas. He’ll see a, a victim instead of, of me, of his big brother. He won’t even want to look at me anymore.”

Castiel’s head tilts to the side, considering the slight form in front of him. “No, Dean. No. Sam loves you. This will not make him change his opinion of you.” Cas tries again to convince him. “It does not change who you are.”

In a voice so low that it is almost lost in the sound of the waves, Dean says, “Dad said he was ashamed of me, that he couldn’t look at me the same anymore. That what I did was …” The rest of what Dean says is lost in the folds of the coat with a stuttering sob.

His hands fold into fists as Castiel reminds himself that everything Dean has experienced has gone in to making him the person he is, the soul whose beauty shone so brightly in Hell for years as Castiel and members of the garrison fought to rescue him. That every ache and injury was necessary to make Dean into what he was destined to be. That no matter how fiercely Castiel wants to, it would be wrong of him to abuse his power by time traveling back to set John Winchester straight. But Cas doesn’t have to like it.

“I am sorry, Dean. Sorry to bring this up and to complicate things for you when you are already weakened by dealing with so much.” Castiel moves to sit next to Dean on the log. “I was trying to make your brother understand that you are still you, just trapped in this body from the past. I chose badly.”

Cas waits to see if Dean will respond, looking at the dark blond hair peeping out of the top of his overcoat. Dean stays hidden. “When I look at you, even now in that child’s body, I see the strong, beautiful soul I fought to bring out of Hell. I see the Righteous Man who taught me, an angel of the lord, about my Father’s intent. I see my friend.”

Dean still does not respond, but he moves slightly, leaning against the angel’s arm just a little, and Cas marvels once again about how easily Dean forgives him for the unforgivable things he does. Castiel shifts his body around to cradle his friend, smiling softly when Dean’s head pops back up out of the coat to gaze off into the night sky.

Dean sighs too deeply for the feeling to belong to a teenage boy, and Castiel can feel the young body’s resolution reemerge. “Cas, you need to cut Sam some slack. I don’t think he’s thinking real clearly. This has been a shock to him and he was de-aged too, you know. He’s probably dealing with emotional turmoil again, like me right now.”

Cas nods, holding back a smile at how Dean is, even now, coming to Sam’s defense, but all he says is “Very true.”

“So, I know you’re busy, Cas, and I’m sorry if I pulled you away from something important, but it’s like I can’t even find the place where I ran into this fairy before. Could you help with that? I mean, I don’t know whether angels and fairies are connected at all, even though some of the lore says that elementals have connections to archangels…” Dean finishes in a rush. “Damnit, Cas, I hate sounding like the damsel in distress, but I need some help here.”

The angel thinks of the many different things he would like to say to this, starting with insisting to Dean that he, too, is important. Instead he gives the response he knows Dean most needs to hear. “I will help you find this creature and give what assistance I can in righting this, returning both you and your brother to your rightful bodies.”

Dean releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “That’s good. Cas, thank you. So now, I guess I’ve got to go back and face Sam again. Ummm, Cas. I think I’d better talk to Sam on my own.”

As they stand up, Dean removes the overcoat and hands it back to Castiel. He shivers slightly, missing the warmth of the coat almost immediately, and peers up at Cas through his impossibly long eye lashes. “And, uh, thanks for the other stuff you said too, Cas. It means a lot to me.”


	8. Chapter 8

Cas steadies Dean as they zap back into the hotel suite where Sam is waiting; and although Dean asked him to go so he could talk to his brother alone, Dean stands in front of the table unable to raise his eyes or force these thoughts into words.

Dean’s heart is beating too fast, and he feels like he can’t quite catch his breath. He sinks into the chair across from Sam trying to order his thoughts, but they are swirling in his head with his emotions. He realizes that he may need to throw up. He doesn’t even notice Sam move until Sam is holding a bottle of water under Dean’s chin and resting his other hand on the nape of his neck, thumb swiping soothingly. Dean takes it and tries to thank Sam, but the sound that comes out is a hiccupping sob. He hides his face in his hands, even more embarrassed.

“Can I apologize for being a self-centered jerk and the worse possible imitation of a big brother before you say anything?”  Sam says, he was going to sit back across from Dean, but his brother hasn’t shrugged off his hand, and it’s nice to have that physical connection.

When Cas whisked Dean away, Sam sat at the table alone mentally kicking himself, for never having seen, for never figuring out, for missing the clues that seemed so obvious now about the traumas that his brother endured as a child have been revealed. Then Sam thought back to how he would come home from school complaining to Dean about how hungry he was, how his clothes weren’t as nice as the other kids, that he needed a new lunch box, or more school supplies, or that his coat wasn’t warm enough. He remembers a year when he grew out of shoes practically monthly. He doesn’t remember his brother ever complaining or making him feel bad for asking.

So many things make more sense to Sam now about his brother; and he wishes Dean hadn’t been such a martyr, that he hadn’t had to shoulder the burden of raising him when he was so young. Looking at him now, regressed in body, he realizes how desperate Dean must have been at times. Sam hates what happened – hates having been a part of it – hates his father a little bit too. And he wants more information. He can feel the slight trembling in Dean though, so he doesn’t push it. He resolves he will not treat his brother as a little boy, and gives a sharp shake of his head realizing his brother hasn’t been one since he was four.

If Dean was in his grown body, his voice would have sounded growly. In this one, it sounds slightly hoarse, like he has a sore throat. His eyes flutter up to meet Sam’s and then quickly dart away. “Sit down, Sammy, please.” Dean’s voice is unsure. “You’re too tall to talk to this way.”

Dean clears his throat, and he straightens his shoulders, steeling himself visibly in order to look into his brother’s face again. “Listen, Sam, I, ummm, I understand if you’re disgusted with me, with what I did…”

Sam hadn’t realized how emotional he was feeling until he interrupts Dean, slamming his fist on the table. “Shut up, Dean! Just shut up!” He can’t stand his brother shouldering all the blame.

Dean pales. He had hoped that Sam was going to forgive him. He fights back tears at the thought of losing his brother because of his past, but thinks in his heart that he deserves it. Dad had been ashamed of him, so it isn’t surprising that Sam is too. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry,” Dean is muttering as he puts his head down on the table. “Sorry, I’m such a fuck up; sorry I’m so disgusting.”

“No, Dean. …You don’t get to be sorry. It’s me; I’m the selfish one that never knew…I didn’t understand.”

“I thought you’d be ashamed, like Dad.” Dean practically whispers. Sam knows who he’d like to hit right then, but sighs and lets the matter drop. He ruffles his brother’s hair and grins when Dean slaps his hand away.

“So, you think we can get a little sleep now?” Sam asks, deciding that they both need a little emotional space.

 

The next morning, coffee and breakfast at the complimentary buffet at the hotel behind them, Sam and Dean find they still have more than an hour to kill before La Retama Public Library opens. They plan to check local newspaper archives to find any connection to their current situation. Sam suggests they use the wait time to exercise, either using the hotel’s gym, running, or swimming in the indoor pool. Dean chooses swimming after noting they would have the pool to themselves.

The pool is heated and empty, so the brothers race each other in laps, getting a good work out before they’ve had enough. Dean strips off his shirt that he insisted on wearing swimming, wringing it out and drying off with the pool towels, not noticing the two hotel employees watching him. The brothers go back to their room to shower and change before leaving for the library where they spend several hours researching. Sam makes them break for lunch – the burgers his brother has been requesting – before they spend a couple more hours checking out the public access parks along the beach, looking for the wrought iron fence.

When they head back to the room again, Sam and Dean are a little dispirited. In all, day three has been a bust, and they haven’t found anything really useful. They both hope Cas will be able to tell them something, anything.

What they don’t expect is to be met in the lobby by a middle-aged Hispanic woman who introduces herself as a caseworker from Child Protective Services, with her are two uniformed Nueces County deputies. Someone has reported that the younger boy looked severely abused, and they need to investigate this. The case worker, who introduces herself as Nelda Ortiz, asks whether they would like to do this here or at the Sheriff’s Department.

“We would also like to talk to your parents,” Ms. Ortiz says. The deputies don’t say anything, or offer any identification; they just follow behind as Sam leads them all into the suite.

“We, uh, we don’t have any parents,” Sam says. “But I have my guardianship paperwork for my brother right here. Please have a seat. Dean gets them something to drink.”  Sam is fussing a bit as he goes into the bedroom to retrieve the paperwork because he’s worried. In all the years they lived with their dad in dubious stages of abuse or neglect they avoided being confronted by CPS, sometimes by leaving in the middle of the night. He really doesn’t want his brother to end up entangled in the system now. The thought of how Dean will react, and what he may say, makes Sam hurry.

Sam hands the case worker the court order from South Dakota, and Mrs. Ortiz begins filling in paperwork with their names and birth dates. He also shows her the copies of their “parents” death certificates. Dean excuses himself, tells his brother he is going to go pray. Mrs. Ortiz asks him not to be gone long as she will need him to answer questions.

Dean gives her a shy smile and says “Yes, Ma’am.” Sam wonders if his brother is overdoing it a little bit, but steels his features into a more professional mode.

“May I ask what the complaint was, Ma’am?” Sam asks.

Mrs. Ortiz continues to jot information, “If you could just let me finish getting down the vital statistics, Mr. Singer. I promise to answers as many of your questions as I can.” She continues to make notes. “So, you’re 21?” Sam agrees. “And your brother just turned 14.” More agreement.

The older woman hands Sam back his paperwork. “Can I ask when you moved to Corpus Christi?”

“Yes, Ma’am. We moved here, well, we’re kind of in the process.” Sam says. “We’ve only been here three days. We’re still in a hotel…” he trails off. “Uh, Mrs. Ortiz, you said you would explain the complaint.”

The CPS caseworker explains the state’s policy of allowing anonymous complaints, but to then send someone to follow up when a child’s life might be in danger. She’s here to make a determination if there are any threats to the safety of the child in the home. If so, she may decide to start protective services.

“Earlier today, someone called to report that your brother looks like he has been beaten. If you will please ask him to rejoin us, I need to see his back and ribs,” Mrs. Ortiz says. The two deputies draw into more alert postures, as though this is the time they are expecting Sam to object.

Dean has been listening at the closed door of the bedroom after leaving to pray to Cas; he takes a deep breath and comes back into the living area as soon as his brother calls for him. “Yes, Sam,” Dean asks, still trying to play the part of a sweet and obedient teenage boy, hoping Cas heard his prayer and will come knocking on the door soon.

Mrs. Ortiz approaches Dean who eyes her warily. “I need you to lift up your shirt, please.”

Dean takes a step back, but one of the deputies has come around behind him. “No one’s going to hurt you, son,” the deputy says. “Just do as the lady asks, Lift your shirt up and turn around.”

All three of the visitors’ faces tighten when Dean complies.


	9. Chapter 9

“Would you like to make a statement?” Ms. Ortiz, the CPS caseworker asks Sam after looking at the marks in various stages of healing on the abdomen of the thin 14-year-old boy standing in front of her clutching his shirt in front of him. Dean tries to put his shirt back on, but one of the deputies stops him and takes it away.

“We need photos, son,” the deputy says firmly, but kindly, as the CPS caseworker takes a digital camera out of her bag. Dean sighs and looks pleadingly at his brother. Dean has been on such an emotional roller coaster the past three days, he’s hoping Sam will come up with the right words because there is no way he intends to go quietly if they try to haul him away. He tries to put every bit of the desperation he feels into that glance.

Sam recognizes the appeal and the resolve in his brother’s eyes. “Of course I’ll make any kind of statement you want. My brother is still recovering from the accident that killed our father. We’re sorry if his scars alarmed any one, but he is not being abused. Please, Ma’am, we are going through enough right now without being separated.”

Dean gives his brother a grateful look. “Sam had nothing to do with any of these marks, and that’s the God’s honest truth. He’s my brother, and I, umm, I need him.” Ms. Ortiz watches the looks the brothers exchange and makes a decision. What they said is plausible, none of the marks looks within three days recent, and the guardianship paperwork speaks of a family tragedy.

“Okay, boys. I am going to leave Dean here, but we have a few things you’ll need to do before I can just walk away.” She watches their smiles blossom and sees their faces fall again. “I’m sure you understand that we have to be very careful, Mr. Singer. So, Dean needs to come in for a full medical checkup within a week. He’ll need to talk to a counselor the same day to see how he’s doing emotionally, and we’ll want to see his educational records and some proof that you have him in a school program.”

She hands Sam a business card and a pamphlet with instructional information. “Call these numbers to make the arrangements, Mr. Singer.”

This time Sam stops her. “Just call me Sam,” he starts. “I’m wondering why, if you can tell these marks aren’t recent, that you aren’t dropping this altogether?” Sam has been trying to dredge up every bit of family case law he can remember, but it all seems to come down on her side.

Ms. Ortiz smiles at the honesty of the question. “Well, Sam, even if you have recently gained custody of your brother, you are young to be in charge of a teenager. We know you don’t have him currently enrolled in school, a state law – but that could be that you just moved – plus, you are staying at a hotel without any type of available support system. “

Dean interrupts her, “A support system? You mean like additional family? Because that’s one of the reasons we are moving here, isn’t it, Sam. Because we have our godfather here.”

Trying not to appear puzzled by what Dean is going on about, Sam says, “I don’t know if the state considers that the same as family, Dean.” He’s not quite sure where Dean is going with this story, and feels like he’s being rescued himself when he hears a knock on the outer door.

“See, he’s here right now. We’re getting dinner, and I think we’re going house hunting this weekend.” Dean is trying to sound like what he thinks a normal happy, well-adjusted teenager might sound. Sam’s glad to be able to have something else to do because he might roll his eyes otherwise as he opens the door to Castiel.

The angel looks around at every person in the room, as though performing a threat assessment, before he stops in front of Dean and furrows his brows. “Hello Dean, why are you standing around half dressed in a room full of strangers?” Dean blushes and grabs his shirt out of the deputy’s hands, pulling it on quickly. Cas nods in approval, and then adds, “Would someone tell me what’s going on?”

Ms. Ortiz introduces herself to Cas, pleased to see there is an adult in their lives, but she and the deputies excuse themselves leaving it up to Sam and Dean to explain things to Cas.

“Our godfather, Dean? That’s the best you could come up with?” Sam asks him when he comes back from locking the door behind the group and flops into a chair.

“Well, I didn’t hear you come up with anything better, college boy, and it wasn’t you being threatened with removal for your own safety,” Dean snaps at him. “What did you expect me to say? We’re here with the angel that pulled me and my brother outta hell? Fuck, Sam. A full physical? Talk to a shrink? Enroll me in school? Just shoot me now, please!” Then Dean turns toward Cas. “Please tell me you found the fairy and this nightmare will soon be behind me.”

Castiel stares at Dean for a moment, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Dean, where did all those injuries come from?”

“They came with the body, a complete set,” Dean snipes. “Now, tell me…”

“No,” says Cas, interrupting him. “I am not finished. What exactly were the police doing in your room? I did not understand your message clearly and was a bit distracted trying to listen while dealing with the Seelie Court. And what do you mean by introducing me as a godfather?”

Dean huffs out a breath, so Sam sums up the situation to Castiel. “And a godfather is someone who is charged with a kid’s spiritual education and well-being, if the kid’s parents die.” Sam knows he over-simplified things, but Cas gets the idea. He seems to like it too, from fond smile he gives both the boys at the explanation.

Staying on task though, Cas asks “And the full physical examination? Will this show additional problems?” Dean grunts out an affirmative. “Then let’s fix as much as we can.” Cas lays his hands on Dean’s shoulder and begins healing with a deep look of concentration on his face. Dean’s face contorts with pain for a minute while Cas uses his grace to heal him. After that, they both sit down.

“So, between you avoiding my question and the healing session, I’m guessing it’s bad news.” Dean would really like Cas to contradict him, but he knows it’s not good. “Give it to me straight, please.”

Sam walks over to sit next to his brother. He’s as nervous as Dean is about what Cas has found out. “Come on, Cas, don’t string it along.”

“Yeah, Cas, what did the frikkin’ fairies say?” Dean’s calm is rapidly evaporating; he runs his hand along his jaw, surprising himself again how soft the skin is when he half-expects to find stubble.

“Well, simply put, they said no.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: My readers are the best! Thanks for the reviews and suggestions, and for not minding that the story grew darker than I intended (and Dean keeps cussing) and I needed to change the rating. We’re about half-way through.)

“Well, damnit, Cas. Make it change us back. Or tell us how to find the frikkin fairy connection and we’ll do it ourselves.” Dean does not want to hear excuses from the angel, he wants to not be stuck in his own 14-year-old body while Child Protective Services pokes and prods him mentally and physically. Plus there is no way on Earth he plans to repeat high school. That’s, like, against the Geneva Convention or something – Nope, high school wasn’t a happy experience the first time around, he ain’t going back.

  
Proving that Cas can read Dean’s mind, the angel huffs “The Seelie Court is not a signatory of the Geneva Convention, Dean. It is completely a human-centric document. Nor is regressing people in age and requiring them to attend secondary school addressed within it.” Dean and Sam both roll their eyes at Cas, who continues anyway. “The important point is that fairies do not acknowledge supremacy of Heaven or Hell. That sylph knew exactly who you two are and insists that she has been kinder to you than either angels or demons, that she is indeed rewarding you, and that as far as she is concerned you need to learn to stop being a hero to complete strangers or suffer the consequences. Her words not mine.”

  
Sam is flabbergasted. “Wait, she said we need to suffer the consequences of helping strangers? Is there some kind of lore we don’t know that explains why we shouldn’t do that?”

  
Cas tilts his head, “Only that it is not safe to get or give favors to the Fae. And one should never enter into a bargain with a fairy.”

  
“Don’t go haring off on tangents, Sam.” Dean is the only one still sitting. As a full-grown man, he might call his posture and facial expression brooding, and Sam doesn’t want to tell him it just looks sulky right now with his full pink lips pooched out and his arms crossed on his thin chest.

  
Sam suspects he looks less foreboding than he imagines too, and sneaks a look at his reflection. Nope, not menacing, more like floppy.

  
“Hey, Samantha, if you’re finished primping, I could use some help.” Dean pushes his hair out of his eyes, vowing to get a haircut soon if he’s going to be stuck this way, and starts sorting his thoughts.

  
“Shut up, squirt,” Sam retorts. Then he snickers. “Sorry about the low blow, but I wanted it to hit…”

  
Dean glares. “If comedy hour is over, can we make some plans? We’ve gotta case with a frikkin’ fairy and her less than awesome reward, and we got the human problems from CPS. We need to work on both fronts … and we need to get ahead of this, so there’s no more surprises popping up.” He brings his legs up into Indian style, a position Sam doubts grown up Dean could force his legs into. “So what steps do we need to take?”

  
As far as the abuse allegations, Cas says he healed some internal problems, but left the outer marks the CPS worker had already seen and photographed. “The problems we’ll face there are that you have a tattoo, a brand, and warding carved all over your ribs. These might prove difficult to explain.”

  
“Ya’ think, Cas?” Dean snorts.

  
Sam stifles a smile. “Cas, Dean and I discussed saying our mythical parents were fanatics who tattooed us for religious reasons. We talked about the brand being a birthmark, but I have no clue what to say about the sigils on his ribs. I guess I can just look baffled and ask them what could have caused that.”

  
“Yes. Of course we will lie,” Cas says, almost eagerly. “And as your godfather I think I should play a role in this discussion. We will be the Church of Ishmael. I think this is fitting. You can be our new chosen one. That will explain your markings and give us the cover of religious significance to your oddities.”

  
“My oddities?” Dean starts, then he says, “You know you’re not really our godfather, right, Cas?”

  
Cas gets a stubborn look on his face. “I am aware of the role-playing done during hunts. And I have seen you cherish some of your roles, Dean Winchester.” Cas narrows his eyes at them. “I am just preparing our back story.”

  
The brothers exchange glances and say,”yeah, whatever.” Then Dean tells Sam they may need to see if Charlie can help them set up an identity for Cas. “We need him ready as an adult support system, Sam.” Dean insists. “We might not get the fairy thing resolved before the CPS thing, and I don’t want to end up in foster care.”

  
“We could just leave, Dean. Go into hiding.” Sam is actually starting to like that idea, as much as he had previously been thinking about putting down roots, but Dean stops him.

  
“No fucking way are we choosing the option that keeps me as your little brother, forever, Sam. It’s bad enough that you grew up taller. I refused to be some kind of little sidekick. No, but we need somewhere less of a fishbowl then this hotel full of nosey do-gooders. Maybe we can find a little house or something to rent. Yeah, that’d be awesome.”

  
Dean wonders what Sam isn’t telling him when he nervously says, “I’ll get on the house thing and call Charlie. There’s one more thing we can try, Dean. We can say you tested out of school. Maybe get Charlie to do that too. Man, we are going to owe her so many favors, and money. But let’s see if she’ll be willing to come stay while we resolve some things.”

  
“That would be awesome, Sam.” Dean paces around the living room. “But you know what would be more awesome? If you two ‘grown ups’ fed the kid’s body occasionally. I am starving.” Then he does something to Sam that Sam has done to Dean for years. He makes sad puppy dog eyes at him.

  
Cas says he will stay with them, too. That he feels that Dean’s defenses have been compromised leaving him unable to defend himself against demons.

  
Dean thinks introducing Charlie to Cas may prove interesting, but all he says is, “Sam, I think we’re gonna need a bigger house.”


	11. Chapter 11

The sands are a strip of tan stretching along miles of the coast. The flat surface of beach dotted sparsely with tourists wearing summer clothes and residents in light jackets walking their dogs. The breeze is constant as is the sharp salt tang in the air and the rushing sounds of rippling waves. Kite flying to attract air elemental sylphs has Dean and Sam on the beach the next morning.

After two hours, Sam is already thinking they should have brought sunscreen with them because he swears he can see his brother’s skin burning under the winter sun. Dad always said that Dean took after his mom, burn and freckle, while Sam and Dad tanned easily. The beginning of February, and it’s about 80 degrees; the sun is bright, waves and seagulls drown out traffic noises, and there’s no one else stationary on the shoreline this Friday morning.

“We’ve been on worse hunts,” Sam grins over at his older little brother and is rewarded by one of Dean’s face-splitting toothy grins. Sam wonders when those looks of sheer enjoyment became so rare. He hadn’t realized he’d missed them.

When it’s time to take a lunch break, Sam makes a pit stop in a souvenir shop long enough to pick up a baseball cap for Dean. It’s tough to be the responsible big brother all the time, Sam thinks, as he notices that Dean’s nose and cheeks are pretty burned. Maybe he should have gotten sunscreen lotion, too. He sees too that the sun is already streaking his brother’s hair blond, which means his own is probably gaining copper highlights. Now if they just didn’t have dark circles under their eyes, they might look healthier.

Dean catches his eye across the pizza parlor’s table. “Quit fussing,” the other Winchester hisses, his face scrunched up like an angry tiger cub, emerald eyes glint under bangs flattened by the hat.

Last night was another broken night of rest; Dean’s nightmares wake him screaming at one point, and Sam is looking forward to moving out of the hotel before they end up thrown out. Cas sat beside Dean after the interruption, murmuring so softly that Sam couldn’t hear what was being said. And while Dean usually talks about having Cas stare at him while he’s sleeping as creepy, Cas was a sentinel sitting on the edge of the Dean’s bed literally watching over him when Sam woke around sunrise.

After breakfast, Cas said he was going to handle the housing arrangements and took off. He is supposed to be joining the brothers at this restaurant during lunch. It was also Cas’s idea to try kite flying to see if they could lure the fairy back into contact with Dean.  Cas said it did not have to be the exact spot, just the general vicinity. The plan, if she appears, is vague. Capture and force her to do as they ask, and Dean’s angry eyes say no matter what it takes. The backpacks the brothers carried hold fine silver chains to bind the fairy if she appears.

When Cas shows up at the restaurant it’s with keys to a big Padre Island home on a fingertip lot on the main channel to the Intercoastal Waterway leading to the Gulf of Mexico. As they drive over the bridge, Dean and Sam interrogate the angel about how he has managed to secure a two-storied, modern, sunny, fully-furnished home with a pool and a dock with a bayliner boat. The place is fully-furnished, like the people are still living there, towels, bedding, even kitchen items and food.

“Are we going to get arrested for squatting?” Sam asks as they explore the 4,000 square foot home. Cas makes a humming noise, and he has a ghost of a smile on his face. “Well?”

“We are borrowing the house, Sam. I met Mr. and Mrs. Moore, an older couple, at a lovely church this morning.” Cas is calmly sitting on the living room couch recounting his meeting. “Very penitent older couple. Childless. Some areas of their past they feel they should atone for. They just decided to go on a cruise around the world and asked me to please use their home while they were gone. They made arrangements with their bank to continue paying utilities.” He sounds smug. “I believe you’ll find that they have cable television and internet. And there’s a phone.”

“Did you whammy a nice old couple, Cas?” Dean demands. He’s pretty sure that’s not a very angelic way for Cas to use his mojo.

“They are very penitent,” Cas repeats. “And newly devout . Did you see it has four bedrooms? You two can stay in separate rooms. Sam will be able to sleep better. All three of these upstairs bedrooms are for guests, and the Moore’s have never had any. It should work very nicely for us. What time is Charlie’s flight arriving again?”

Dean tilts his head at Castiel, drilling into him with emerald eyes that look too old for his face. He recognizes this as an attempt to change the subject, and he blames himself for having corrupted an angel. “Did you make them an offer they couldn’t refuse. Cas? And what are you being such a Chatty Cathy for, anyway?”

Sam answers the question when Cas doesn’t. “He’s doing the nervous talk thing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do it before either.” Sam narrows his hazel eyes at the angel. “Are you sure we can stay here safely? No being arrested?”

Cas says everything will be fine as he has a notarized letter from the Moores permitting him to stay here along with his god sons. “As for safely … I think we will use invisible ink to draw the wardings, but we can make it as safe as possible.”

Sam snorts at that answer, but goes out to the Impala and brings in their bags and supplies. He and Dean choose the two rooms overlooking the back that have a connecting balcony. The front bedroom is a suite, and they think Charlie will appreciate that it has its own bathroom. They set to work drawing wards and sigils, devil traps, and salting all the doors and windows.

“We’ll get Charlie to make his paperwork in the name of Cas Moore,” Dean adds. “Tell people he’s their nephew or something. And I think this home environment should help soothe any worries the Child Protective Services people have.” Sam realizes from that how worried Dean still is about the tests he is facing.

Besides the house, the Moores have left a newer Audi sedan for them to use, and against Dean’s protests, Sam pulls the Impala into one of the empty bays of the three-car garage. “This is less conspicuous,” Sam explains as he goes to pick up Charlie, leaving Dean and Cas in the kitchen. Sam offers to pick up dinner, and gives Dean a surprised look when he says he’ll cook.

“What?” Dean looks indignant at his brother’s concerned frown. “I can cook.” Dean starts going through the refrigerator and pantry, looking for ingredients for something to prove his claim. Cas takes off his overcoat and suit jacket, then begins to roll up his shirt sleeves like he’s going to help. Sam hopes the house doesn’t burn down while he’s out.

Later when Sam introduces them, the Winchesters are amused by the interactions of their friends, the angel and the hacker. Charlie circles around Cas – inspecting his tousled hair and impossibly blue eyes, looking intrigued and scared.  Castiel stands stoically following her movement like a bird watching an insect.

“You know I have to rethink my entire philosophy if you’re real?” Charlie accuses the angel.

Castiel blinks. “You assisted in the fight against Leviathan, yet you are stumbling over the idea of an angel? That seems less than logical.”

Charlie’s face lights up. “He’s Spock! Oh, that’s perfect because regular you would make a great Captain Kirk, Dean.”  Charlie was happy to see that Dean didn’t look as worried as he did when she left earlier that week and that he and Sam were working together to find the sylph who de-aged them.

Dean finishes up dinner preparations and surprisingly  appetizing smells are wafting from the kitchen. “That’s a pretty good way to think of him, Charlie. He’s smart, logical, and an alien who doesn’t understand human illogical behavior.” Dean smiles at his friends. “You nailed it.”

Sam snorts, thinking he should have seen that a long time ago. Cas just looks puzzled.

“What’s for dinner, anyway?” Sam’s stomach starts growling loudly enough to make him blush. He is amazed when his brother says it’s chicken carbonara.

“You gonna join us, Cas? I made it in your honor. What with you being the godfather and all.” Dean teases, and Cas is the only one of them that doesn’t laugh.

Dinner passes peacefully, as do the next couple days. The boys go out hunting the fairy as Charlie builds Cas an identity on paper, carefully inserting everything from birth to education in various databanks. Castiel Moore has advanced degrees in history and religious studies. He is a licensed minister and a missionary. The boys begrudgingly agree that he needs a driver’s license.

“This card doesn’t mean you get to drive, Cas. Especially not baby.” Dean wants this crystal clear.

Charlie turns down Dean and Sam’s request that she stick around and become a female family member, snorting at the suggestion that she could portray herself as Cas’s wife. “He’s not my type,” Charlie says. “And I’m pretty sure there’s plenty of people who think he should smite me on sight.”


	12. Chapter 12

Trying not to worry about an unpleasant event looming is like, well, trying not to think about it when your nose is itchy. Don’t think about it. Do not think about how itchy your nose is, how easy it would be to just scratch it. Don’t scratch. AARRGG!

Dean was trying to NOT think about the scheduled Child Protective Services ordered home visit, mental and physical examinations Saturday, when he and Sam went trolling for the elusive fairy; and Sunday, hunting again for the fairy and taking Charlie back to the airport; and even Monday, pouring over books trying to find a way to compel the sylph to appear. When Tuesday rolls around his trepidation over the upcoming events leave him almost trembling, and it is all Sam can do to keep from hugging his prickly brother and promising that everything will be okay.

Verbally denying his worry, Dean has tripped on the stairs, broken a coffee cup, burned himself making breakfast, and dropped silverware in the kitchen in his first hour of being awake Tuesday morning. Sam keeps asking him if he’s okay, and looking like a kicked puppy when Dean snaps at him.

Cas is the only one of them who is calm this Tuesday, but with some of the whackadoo ideas he has spouted, including the suggestion to tell them Dean is the chosen one of a religious cult, Dean and Sam are losing hope. The angel looks at them with disappointment and hurt apparent. “I am not going to allow anything bad to happen to you, Dean. Please, just trust me.” Cas’s facial expression is earnest and his electric blue eyes are pleading.  “If it becomes inevitable that they intend to take you from us, I will take you somewhere else.”

“Will both of you stop trying to tell me everything is gonna be okay. Okay? I’m fine. In fact, I’m frikkin’ awesome.” Dean’s voice betrays him, cracking in the middle of his pronouncement. He throws up his hands and stalks off to dress carefully for the coming home interview.

Sam also dresses carefully, trying to look respectable. “Cas, you have to take the overcoat off in the house.” Sam tells the angel. “As a matter of fact, you might take off the suit jacket too. We supposed to live here, so we should try to look comfortable.” That’s as much time as Sam has left for giving advice before Ms. Ortiz shows up and is pleased with the house’s cleanliness, the amount of food available, and even with the boy’s godfather. The first of the three trials they face has only one catch, Dean is not enrolled in school. Sam says it is his intention to home school Dean, who is far advanced for his age, and Ms. Ortiz says whether that is acceptable will depend on results of the mental and physical examinations today.

After the well-meaning caseworker leaves, Sam turns to Dean and says, “See that wasn’t so bad was it?”

Dean snarls back. “Don’t tell me how easy this is unless you can be the one poked, prodded and probed in these examinations.”

“Well you are going to feel pretty damned silly if everything goes fine after all your drama queen histrionics, Dean.” Sam really does intend to take the higher ground, but Dean has been driving him crazy. “Maybe you could just try to be calm because, you heard Cas, nothing bad is going to happen to you on our watch.”

Cas agrees, adding his gravelly voice to the assurances. “Please, just relax, Dean. Your brother and I will take care of this.”

That is the exact wrong thing to say to a guy who has been working overtime to prove he was still a capable man, a hunter, trapped in the body of a teenager. Dean does not want to be taken care of, and being told to relax has the opposite effect. It was bad enough that his immature nervous system no longer allows him to mask his nightmares – and that his brother knows it. Unfortunately, Sam’s relief at passing the home inspection, and Cas taking it as a personal victory on his part, are only serving to make Dean angrier.

It’s a surly Dean who is led into a doctor’s exam room after a series of x-rays and lab tests and told to take off his clothes. He folds his arms across his chest and refuses. “I think we can do this with my clothes on,” he snipes.

Doctor White, the state contracted physician, has dealt with plenty of recalcitrant teen-aged boys in his 30 years of medical practice and he will not argue. He walks out into the waiting room and tells Cas and Sam that Dean is refusing to cooperate. He says that one, or both of them if need be, must get in there and talk him into doing what he’s told. Plus, Doctor White now says that at least one must stay with Dean the entire time as a chaperone.

Dean is still standing there in a fighter’s stance, legs braced, fists curled against his thighs, when Sam and Cas both enter the room. Three pairs of eyes glare, each refusing to back down in the non-verbal argument. Cas steps toward him, hand outstretched, Dean steps away, but the room is not that big. His knees knock into the examining table. Sam lets out a low growl. “Dean, you are being ridiculous, and, and childish…”

Sam wishes he could rewind and take that word back, but Dean’s look of betrayal will leave a scar.

“I. am. not. comfortable. being. told. to. take. my. clothes. off,” Dean says in a furious and deliberatively measured tone, and with that pronouncement Dean puts Sam, who remembers what he learned of Dean’s dark secrets a few days ago, on the defensive.

Cas, however, is not buying into the drama. “Dean, either you take off your clothes, or we will take them off you. We do not have leverage here, and you are making matters worse by your stubborn behavior.”  Cas’s tone is matter of fact and insistent.

Dean blinks. He visibly tries to pull himself together but the tremors running through his body are apparent. He realizes the angel is right, doesn’t want to admit he was wrong, and is now dealing with guilt as well as the panicked knot in his stomach about this exam. None of this is making him feel particularly cooperative. Dean takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it. You guys can go.”

“No. We cannot go. Your fit has made the doctor decide one of us must stay in here with you, which is probably for the best.” The angel catches the panicked eye-rolling expression from Dean. “Do you want me or your brother?”

“Wait. You’re kidding, right? “Dean closes his eyes, and wonders how much worse this sucky day could continue to get. They are standing there waiting to see if he wants his little brother or Cas watch him take off his clothes and get probed by the doctor - while he’s wearing his little boy birthday suit. “This ain’t happening.”

Cas turns to Sam. “I believe I’ve got this Sam. You can go.” And as much as Sam wants to be the big brother here, he can’t stand to think about how much Dean is going to hate being put in this situation. He makes a strategic retreat away, leaving Cas to handle the hyperventilating teenaged Dean.

How Cas managed to get Dean to cooperate, Sam really doesn’t want to know. He’s concerned enough about the looks the doctor gave them and the furious notes he was typing in to his computer when Dean came out of the exam room. Sam doesn’t ask what has his brother looking like a limp noodle as they head to the mental health examination two floors up in the same building. Cas has Dean by the elbow steering him.

“Dean, hey. You kind of need to pull it back together, man.” Sam tries encouraging his brother. “C’mon, man. The worst is over. You need to be sharp now.”

Dean looks and gives a brief nod. “Yeah, Sammy. I got this - just give me a minute.” The fact that the minute is spent with Dean tucking his head between his knees in the next waiting room tells Sam the situation is about as bad as it can be for Dean. With Sam on one side and Cas on the other, they wait for Dean’s turn.

The first part of this segment takes place with Dean sitting in front of a computer taking tests, after a long two hours Dean returns to the waiting area. “What was that about?” Sam wants to know. Dean shrugs, and tells his brother that he suspects he has just completed an MMPI and an education level assessment.

“Personality indicator, huh?” Sam tries to joke light-heartedly. “How many questions were there about pie?”

Dean gives him a ghost of a grin, appreciating how hard this must be for his brother to just sit and wait. After another half-hour, the psychologist comes into the waiting room and asks all three of them to join her in her office.

She’s an older woman, maybe early 60’s, short, pudgy, and with a no-nonsense air. She introduces herself as Doctor Jean Davis, and her nameplate has a string of letters after her name that tell of her licensing and qualifications to the informed. She says she’ll explain some of what Dean just completed, then talk to Dean alone, before she makes her decision and sends the report to Child Protective Services.

“I appreciate you explaining what’s going on,“ Dean says softly, taking the lead. “We’d like to know what those tests were and what they say.”

Doctor Davis eyes Dean like a lab experiment. “You’re an interesting young man, Dean Singer. Genius IQ, Education level past high school equivalency, and an MMPI that speaks of either the most well-adjusted person I’ve ever met or a highly functioning sociopath.”


	13. Chapter 13

“That’s impossible! My brother is not a sociopath…” Sam is flabbergasted. “And while he’s pretty well-adjusted considering…well, he’s been through a lot lately.” He turns to Dean, eyes searching the young face that’s ducked down trying to hide from scrutiny.

Cas clears his throat. In a voice even deeper than usual he begins to interrogate Dean. “Dean, explain. Did you research the types of tests you were facing? Did you manipulate the results?” Dean squirms deeper into his seat, shooting quick glances at Doctor Davis. He doesn’t want to have this discussion in front of her, his eyes beg Castiel to leave it alone.

Doctor Davis is unmoved by his display. Attempting to manipulate the test is a something a sociopath might do, so is feigning embarrassment after getting caught. With a family history like this boy’s in front of her, his mother’s death in a house fire when he was four, his father’s death in a car accident the boy was involved in, his emotional responses were too normal. His eyes, however, are more expressive than most sociopaths – at least at this young age. Sociopaths who become con-men do learn to mimic emotional responses, so there is no absolute. 

“What do you have to say for yourself,” Doctor Davis demands, her voice insistent of truth. “Did you attempt to manipulate the test?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Dean’s voice is trembling.

“Why?”

His face is flushed and his eyes are darting around trying not to meet any of the other pairs of eyes trained on him, but he takes a deep breath and sits up straighter, squaring shoulders still boyishly narrow and lifting his chin. “All I’ve got left is Sammy and Cas, Ma’am. I was afraid that CPS was going to try to take me away. And that’s not right because they’d never hurt me – all either one of them wants to do is help. And, and, it’s not their fault if I don’t wanta talk about stuff.” He runs out of steam and bites his lower lip to stop it from quivering. Damn these kid emotions, he thinks.

Cas puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezes where it meets his neck gently. Dean ducks his head, but he doesn’t pull away, accepting the silent show of support. The doctor makes a mental note that their godfather seems to be protective.

Doctor Davis studies the red-faced boy. “Why don’t you want to talk about it? It could help.”

The look he gives the doctor is one that speaks of old pain, too old for a face so young, but the doctor assumes it comes from losing his mother at so young an age, but when he was old enough to remember the difference it caused in his life. “Ma’am, talking doesn’t change anything.” His voice cracks a little and he shrugs off Cas’s hand to straighten in his chair. He pauses to get his face and voice under control, swallowing down the emotion. “No amount of talking brought back my mom, and it won’t work with my dad. I’ve just … I just can’t lose anybody else. Not if I can help it.”

So, not a sociopath, and not as well-adjusted as he wants the world to believe, she thinks. “You can’t hide all your feelings and pretend to be okay, Dean. It’s not a healthy way to cope.” Doctor Davis is interrupted by a sound that’s somewhere between a sob and a snort.

“That’s what Sammy’s always saying.” Dean betrays himself with a sharp snuffle and manages to turn redder.

Doctor Davis turns her eyes to the taller brother, putting him on the spot. “How are you coping?”

Sam considers the question for a moment. “It’s been a big adjustment, and, well, I’ve been more concerned about Dean than me. And than this stuff came up with Child Protective Services … I don’t want to lose my brother. I’m trying to do the right thing.”  He gives a soft huff and a wry smile. “I guess as well as can be expected is my answer.”

“You’re pretty young to take on the responsibility of raising a child, especially a bright, somewhat manipulative one like your brother.  What about your own life? Your own plans for the future, for finishing college?“ She’s surprised by how red Sam turns. “If you are going to do this, you will have to put your brother’s needs before your own.”

Sam answers her softly but with underlying steel in his tone. “I had a great role model for how you have to put the needs of the younger person first.” He clears his throat before continuing to talk – the doctor assumes about their father. “I may never be as good or unselfish, but I want the chance to try.”

Doctor Davis shuffles her paperwork.  She calls Dean’s name and waits until he makes eye contact, noticing his eyes have dark circles beneath them. “Are you sleeping okay?” He shakes his head and admits that he has nightmares. She jots a prescription for sleeping pills, hands it to Sam.

Sam asks about any other findings, and Doctor Davis says his brother’s physical exam was fine except for the injuries from the car accident. She says the doctor was surprised at the tattoo, but she accepts the pre-arranged story. “He also said your brother has a strange birthmark, but no indication of abuse. He’s a little bit underweight, and I expect to see that change.”

Handing Sam a file with copies of various test results, she continues. “Well, then. I will complete my report to Child Protective Services. I am going to recommend that your brother attend school – upper level high school at most. He needs to be around people closer to his own age.” She gives Dean a stern glance when he makes a soft protest. “I’ve sent copies of these education and IQ test results with you.”

Sam nods his head, worrying his bottom lip, knowing that Dean would not go quietly. She gives him a stern look. “We will be expecting a call from a school before Friday. He is recovered enough to be enrolled.” Cas murmurs that he’ll make sure of it.

“I’m also recommending that he attend grief counseling – a group setting would be fine. It would hurt for you to attend either, Sam.” Doctor Davis hands Sam a list of agencies with times and places of group meetings. She turns to Cas. “I’m glad they have a caring older man in their life, Mr. Moore, and I gather, as their godfather you will take care of their spiritual needs. Please, don’t hesitate to call if you have any questions.” Cas takes her proffered card with a low thanks.


	14. Chapter 14

“Frikkin hell, Sam. We need to find that fairy, like right now!” Dean flings himself into the backseat of the Audi, and then gets madder because he’s in the back seat, of an Audi, instead of the driver’s seat of his Impala. He kicks the door, and the seat, and folds his arms defensively and pouts.  

Sam and Cas look at each other over the roof of the car before Sam slides behind the wheel. “Dean, sit up, and stop acting like the child you don’t want us to treat you like.” He adjusts the rear view mirror to see the scowling face of his brother. “Suck it up, man. At least they aren’t talking about sending you to junior high or to a juvenile detention.”

He glances at his brother whose scowl has increased and now also looks skeptical. “Easy for you to say, Sam. You’re not the one who was being probed and…”

“There was very little probing, Dean, just that once the doctor…” Cas starts.

“Shut up, Cas!” Dean barks, interrupting him. “Just shut up. They were also probing my mind. So, yeah. Probing. Sam, let’s just go, skip town. I can’t do this, man.”

Fortunately, the trip down South Padre Island Drive and the bridge over the Intracoastal waterways onto Padre Island and to their new temporary home is smooth and fairly short because the rest of it takes place in silence. Sam sighs as Dean slams out of the car before Sam has a chance to turn it off. Cas starts after Dean, but Sam tells him to let him go. “He said his emotions were regressed along with his body, give him a few minutes.”

Sam and Cas eat dinner without Dean, who comes downstairs only to get one of his sleeping pills, drinking it down with a large glass of water. He tells Sam he’s not hungry, and asks Cas to please, take some silver chains this time and capture the damn fairy who has ruined his life. He turns sad eyes to Sam. “We’ve got to find the fairy or bolt from here. I am not going back to high school, Sam. It’d be my worst nightmare come true. Like going back to hell.” He plods back upstairs.

The local high school is across the causeway, and traffic is horrible as Sam drives across by himself with paperwork needed to enroll Dean in school the next morning. Cas has gone searching for the fairy, and Dean refused to get out of bed. He blamed the sleeping pill, said he was too tired, and pulled a pillow over his head. When Sam told him he needed to be there to choose courses, Dean said he wasn’t planning to need them. Sam’s a little worried because he also said he wasn’t hungry, even though Sam doesn’t recall him eating lunch or dinner yesterday.

The high school principal, Ms. Melendez, school counselor, Mr. Roberts, and gifted student program coordinator. Mrs. Thompson, meet with Sam in a small conference room off the main office. They are surprised that Dean is not there, and exchange worried looks when Sam tells them the truth. His brother has not been sleeping well, was prescribed sleeping pills which he took for the first time last night, and wasn’t awake enough to get up. Mr. Roberts recommends that if he is going to take a sleeping pill, to take it twelve hours before he has to get up for school.

“Attendance is mandatory, Mr. Singer. Once he is enrolled, we expect him to be here,” Principal Melendez is a bit strident. School ratings fall when there are high absentee rates.

The group goes over the scheduled classes they’ve chosen for him; advanced placement is English composition, college algebra, astronomy, government, and psychology 101. These are all classes that are taught as dual high school and college credit. “Mr. Singer, it’s unusual to have someone as young as Dean enrolled in these upper level classes, but his test scores indicate that he is more than capable of college-level work, but is being placed in high school for the social aspects.” The school counselor explains. “This brings us to the problem areas. I was hoping to meet him to assess his ability to, well, fit in. We don’t know whether he is emotionally mature enough for this. We will need to watch him closely to avoid any harassment.”

Sam winces at the thought of Dean facing bullies, for the bullies’ sakes. He remembers people bullying him in school, and how Dean would rush to his defense, resulting in trips for Dean to the principal’s office and even suspensions. The gifted program coordinator, Mrs. Thompson, suggests with five of the most academically rigorous classes they could find, Dean should also be in two less challenging classes so he isn’t overwhelmed. They choose a PE class that because of his schedule may have to be at the same time the other students in it will be baseball players. Sam says Dean may actually enjoy that because he likes sports.

The adults are surprised by how well-rounded Sam is making Dean sound. Looking for an elective that fits in his schedule, the group tries to decide between a shop class, theater, home economics, or choir. They also set Monday and Wednesdays as days Dean will meet with the counselor and other students during lunch in a student grief group. Sam toys with enrolling Dean in choir or home economics to mess with him, but he decides to be a good big brother and not torment Dean. Surprising the rest of the group, Sam says they should enroll him in auto shop. Looking at their doubtful eyes, Sam explains, “Dad had a 1967 Impala that he always worked on with Dean. It’s Dean’s now – although he’s too young to drive of course. He’ll be fine. He’s actually a good mechanic.”

None of the group wants to say they are afraid Dean will be picked on for being too young and too smart in an upper level shop class. The principal makes a mental note of the time, so she can make personal visits to the classroom to make sure everything is going well.

Taking the class schedule, a map of the campus, and Dean’s Student Code of Conduct and Dress Code, Sam heads back to the house, hoping Dean will accept what seems to be inevitable and not make this more difficult than it has to be. He stops by a mall on the way, buying Dean several nicer outfits as the dress code does not allow t-shirts as outer-wear, shoes, a backpack, insulated lunch kit, and school supplies. He also picks up a cherry pie from a bakery, and sandwich makings for the lunch bag.

When Sam gets back to the house, it’s still quiet and Dean is nowhere downstairs. Sam puts away all the food and goes looking for him. He finds Dean still in bed, staring at the ceiling, and he dumps all the packages on the bed next to him. “Dean, get the hell out of bed, now.” Sam’s exasperation with his brother is obvious. “You can’t just lie around in bed all day and expect me to wait on you hand and foot. Put this stuff away, then join me on the back patio and we’ll go over your school schedule.”

Sam goes to stomp out of the room, when Dean stops him. “Sam, you’re not listening. I am not going to high school again. It ain’t fucking happening and you can’t make me.” The de-aged older brother is sitting up in bed, gritting the words out through his teeth.

“Stop being an obnoxious brat, Dean. You’ll do what needs to be done, so leave all this drama queen stuff behind or I’ll prove that I can make you.” Sam is looming over Dean, giant sized compared to his brother usually, and the disparity in sizes right now makes Dean gulp. Whether he gets his ass handed to him or not, Dean does not intend to back down. Green eyes glare through slits at angry hazel eyes, both Winchesters stubborn enough to try the other’s resolve, when the doorbell rings, and Sam spins around to leave with a muttered curse. “Get the hell out of bed Dean. I mean it,” are Sam’s parting words as he heads down the steps.

Mr. Roberts, the school counselor, is at the door, and Sam is surprised to see him. “I hope it’s okay that I came, but I know Doctor Davis really well, and her notes said she thinks you and your brother are under a lot of stress. She thinks that he may be a little desperate. When you said you couldn’t get him to get out of bed today, I thought I’d take a chance to come meet him here.”

Sam invites him in, and tells the counselor where Dean’s bedroom is if he’s willing to try. Mr. Roberts says he’d like to talk to Dean, but for obvious reasons doesn’t plan to go into a kid’s bedroom alone with him. Sam tells him to have a seat then, and he’ll be right back. Mr. Roberts takes one look at the underlying anger in Sam’s eyes and suggests they both go. The counselor is glad he did because even with him there, Sam’s answer to Dean refusing to get up or even pick his head up from under the pillow is to dump the entire mattress off the bed, then pick it up leaving his brother sitting amidst bedclothes and linens on the floor.

“Dean, this is your school counselor. Now get the hell up off the floor and say hello,” Sam’s fury is barely restrained.

Mr. Roberts isn’t sure how much longer the tableau would remain frozen, but he stops the immediate stand off by sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of Dean and introducing himself while taking in the sight of the boy in front of him. He’s good looking, pretty really at this age, and that may make things even harder for him at school. His green eyes look intelligent, and sheepish, as he says hello, and suggests they go to the living room to do this. He notices that Dean is shaky and holding onto things to get downstairs.

As they move to the ground level, Mr. Roberts texts Doctor Davis and suggests anti-anxiety medicine for Dean. He takes Sam aside and tells him what he did. “I suspect he really has just reached maximum stress and his body is responding. Let’s see if we can’t get him started in school and then determine whether we can take him off the medicine.”

Now, learning that the doctor and the counselor suspect extreme anxiety, Sam feels like a fraud of a big brother, again. He runs his hand through his hair and gives Mr. Roberts a hangdog grimace.

“Don’t worry, Sam.” Mr. Roberts says. “We’ll get you both through this. Just get the prescription, and have Dean to school on time tomorrow. We’ll find a way to make this work.”


	15. Chapter 15

God knows, (maybe, if he’s paying any attention) that Sam is trying to treat Dean the same as always, but unlike Cas he sees the outside – not Dean’s soul - and sees the behaviors, and, yeah, Dean frequently acts like a kid anyway, and it’s damned hard to look at this cute kid and not think “kid” and damned near impossible to remember “older than I am.” But Sam is trying, and he swears Dean is trying to drive him crazy.

Okay, so Sam understands Dean’s insistence on being driven to school, the bus comes at an ungodly awful hour of the morning. He has given Dean a dose of anti-anxiety medicine and is taking a bottle in to the school nurse’s office as instructed. Mental checklist, be kind because your older brother is having a nervous breakdown about being de-aged and forced to spent copious amounts of time near teenagers. Try to cheer him up. Humor him. And, above all, don’t kill him on the way to school on his first day.

“You know it would be a better use of time if I spent the day helping you try to find the fucking fairy,” Dean grouses at him.

Sam sighs. “We’ve had this discussion, Dean. We need to comply with CPS.” Sam is repeating himself, so he decides to try step two of the plan. Trying to cheer Dean up, Sam says, “Well think of all the cute chicks and cheerleaders you’ll get to hang out with.”

Dean sneers. “Cute cheerleaders are jailbait, Sammy. I don’t perv over children.” Dean glares at him, daring him to say something about his outer shell. “I prefer women with experience, so wish me a hot teacher.”

“Don’t go hitting on your teachers, Dean. God, you are so embarrassing sometimes.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I got hot with teacher, Sammy. Yeesh, what, you mean you didn’t?” Dean pokes his brother. “Oh, that’s right; you were like a virgin until college. Was that like a promise ring thing?”

“I am not having this conversation with you, Dean.” Sam turns on the music. Dean reaches over and turns it off. Sam turns it on again and smacks Dean’s hand away when he reaches to turn it off again. Sam is relieved when they reach the school, both of them alive and in one piece. And he tries not to worry about how young and defenseless (and unarmed because Sam disarmed him before they left home), Dean looks as he shoulders his backpack and stalks off without saying goodbye.

And little. Dean is so small compared to most of these kids who are mostly older than Dean looks right now. Sam takes a deep shaky breath. Then jumps, as Cas is standing too close to him.

“He is very agitated,” Cas says. “Will he be okay? Should I accompany him?”

Sam closes the car door as he heads into the building. “Just try to capture the sylph, Cas. He’ll be okay. I mean millions of kids go to high school every day and they do okay. Dean will be just fine.” Sam is saying this to calm himself as well as Cas.

Dean is reminding himself to breathe as he stops by the counselor’s office to turn in his paperwork and pick up his official schedule. As he walks through the hall on his way to auto shop, following the map he needs for this school that holds 1,850-something students, Dean tells himself not to exhibit prey behavior. To keep his chin up and shoulders back. He’s still trying to portray an aura of calm as he slides into the large classroom that opens onto garage bays, and freezes when all eyes are on him once he’s in the classroom.

There are 32 students in the class; the youngest besides Dean is 16. Most of them look more like the type who will grow up to shoot pool and work with their hands. The room smells of motor oil and gasoline, and Dean feels at home inside. Oh, he knows they’re gonna test him, but he knows them – people like them – and he fits here. So, okay, he’ll take some ribbing for being a kid, but they will respect his knowledge and ability. Dean may remember to thank Sam for this. It’s not a bad way to start the day, he thinks.

The teacher sends him with the class ringleader to a group working on an old beater car, and no matter how they test him, Dean passes. Plus, he gets to talking about working on his car, and damn, they all want to see it. Dean beams because he loves his baby. Dean doesn’t even notice when Ms. Melendez slips into the room to talk to the shop teacher, Mr. Clark. Both watch him to see how well he’s doing before she slips back out.

A couple of the other shop students walk with Dean a little way before they peel off, and he wanders into his advanced English composition class. No hot chick teacher here. This one, a middle-aged, over-weight, pug-nosed spinster sniffs at the grease in the creases of his hand as he offers his enrollment paper.

She, Miss Rosa, was forewarned she was getting a 14-year old prodigy in her senior advanced placement class, three weeks into the semester no less. He’s a cute little waif, she thinks, as he peers up at her shyly with beautiful jade green eyes under thick lashes, and she decides it’s not his fault that he has been stuck in an automotive class. Miss Rosa makes a big deal over him to the class before letting him sit down.

They have just started a segment about Poe, and Dean figures he’ll be able to hold her own. Miss Rosa said the writing portion is to complete an original horror short story, and Dean smiles at her. “Sounds like fun,” he says, and she can’t help but smile back. Some of the older guys, who are used to Miss Rosa simpering at them give him stink eye, but he ignores them.

Third period is Psych 101. The class is taught by a professor from Texas A&M Corpus Christi; he likes to be called Doctor Gibbons. This is a small class, and Gibbons requires Dean to spend his first day completing earlier tests he has required. Fortunately, Dean has been honing up on his psychology just recently. Plus, he made kind of a self study of it when he was hunting on his own, teaching himself to be a better con-man.

Fourth period is Mr. Linquist. He and the other advance placement math students accept Dean as soon as he demonstrates he knows the language of math. Linquist realizes that this student loves practical math applications best and, while young, can hold his own. The class is small and mostly male, Dean feels like the majority of them remind him of his geeky brother. Nothing wrong with the kids, he thinks, he just feels like he fits in better with the kids from auto shop.

It’s Wednesday, so Dean makes his way to his required student grief group in the Counseling Center to eat his lunch. Mr. Roberts meets him in the lobby area and brings him back where there are five other students in a circle of chairs. Dean doesn’t know any of them and except for saying “Hi, I’m Dean” during the introduction, he sits quietly and listens while eating his lunch. Attending may be mandatory for him, but Dean figures it will take an act of Congress, or more, to make him spill his guts to this group. When Mr. Roberts tries to gently draw Dean out, he gets short, painfully polite, responses, and decides to let his newest group member have more time. He does require Dean to go see the school nurse for another dose of anti-anxiety medicine.

Astronomy is interesting, even if they aren’t learning anything Dean hasn’t taught himself, read about, or observed as he watched the stars. This class is also taught by a college professor, a stick thin short guy who goes by the name Mr. T, and Dean has met several of the students in his earlier math class. The government class is taught by a younger female teacher, a good-looking brunette with big blue eyes, named Ms. Templeton. Dean gives her a slow smile of appreciation when he hands her his enrollment paperwork, and she blushes and shoos him away, thinking he’s a precocious kid. The same group of older teen boys from his morning English class seems to be in this group, and the dark-haired ringleader notices Dean’s interaction with the teacher. He nudges his friends and the whisper. Dean ignores them, keeping his appreciative eyes on the only good looking teacher he has. He thinks of it as his reward for getting most of the way through the day.

Final class period of the day finds Dean in a large group of student athletes. Mostly these are the members of the baseball team, but there are also some who participate in field events in track and field. These are the varsity team members, and they, and their coaches, are less than happy to have a scrawny egg-head assigned to their section. Except for a couple of the guys Dean met in auto shop who greet him like a potential friend, and a group of five senior boys who share his English and government classes, the rest of the students ignore the newcomer.

The entire male coaching staff is in the gym this time of day, and they are not pleased to have to baby sit, no matter how tragic the kid’s story is – mom dead in a house fire when he was a little kid, dad killed in a car accident. They melt a little in their icy looks when they see the scars the kid tries to hide as he changes out in the locker room. They also notice the kid has managed to make friends and enemies on his first day. Quickly discussing him, they decide to see if he has any hidden athletic skills before maybe making him part of the group of student trainers.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: This chapter includes bullying, and an account of a sexual assault. Please be advised. Teen sexual assault at high school is unfortunately not as uncommon as I would like.)

The track coach watches the skinny little new kid leave the rest of the runners behind as he pounds through the 3200 meter like he has mad dogs in his wake. When he had first approached the kid, Wednesday, to ask him if he wanted to try out for the team, he was thinking maybe the kid would be a sprinter. What changed his mind was the quirky little half smile when the kid learned in these events 3200 meters was distance running.

“That’s like, not quite two miles, right, Coach Turner?” The kid, Dean, asked. Like a two mile run was a stroll in the park, but the kid added his dad had been a Marine and liked to keep his kids in shape running. Kid said he’d be willing to try the javelin, too, but turned down high jump and pole vaulting with a faint shudder. They both figure his height will make hurdling difficult, and his slight form puts him at a disadvantage for discus or shot put.

“Don’t like heights, huh?” Coach Turners asks and gets a definite response with a grin. “Just rather keep my feet on the ground as much as possible, sir.”

This is Friday, the week’s almost over; it’s day 11 of his transformation, and Dean is looking forward to Sam coming to pick him up because he’s bringing Baby. George and Ricky, the two guys who are in first and seventh periods with him, are waiting to see his beloved car that he talks about every day. The week hasn’t been as sucky as he remembers high school being, with the exception of Joe and his goons from advanced placement English and government classes, who also share the seventh hour athletics period. Fortunately, they are baseball, and Dean’s been hanging out with the track and field team and the trainers, who are impressed by “the kid’s” knowledge and ability at first aid.

Being called “kid” by most of them doesn’t bother him. He recognizes it as an earned nickname. In body, he is just turned 14. Joe and his group are the only ones being jerks about it, but Dean’s been ignoring their remarks about how he looks like a little girl, their comments on his physique, and their mention of the amount of hair he may or may not have in places they shouldn’t be looking.

With most of the kids sneaking out as early as they can get away with Friday afternoon, Dean doesn’t realize the gym has pretty well cleared out as he goes to shower. He’s actually feeling pretty relaxed – partly due to the better living through chemistry anti-anxiety meds – and he’s humming a little as he turns his face up under the spray. Later, he’ll blame himself for letting his guard down.

“I swear it’s like having a pretty girl naked in our locker room,” Joe says, startling Dean who whirls to find four older teens watching him. “I mean, look at that mouth. Tell me that ain’t a mouth made for sucking dick.” Dean turns off the water and moves to put his back to the wall. “And that ass…that ass belongs on a pretty girl.” Joe has the other kids laughing and cat-calling too. Dean reaches for his towel, but one of the other guys snatches it away from him.

Dean doesn’t know why Joe has taken a dislike to him, that the older boy feels like he’s being upstaged by the younger one in his classes where he makes advanced placement look easy, and with the high school girls who have cooed over this cute new kid, or with the teachers who used to treat him as their pet. It was just one thing too many to have this skinny androgynous boy wow the coaches too. No one should have it as easy as this weirdo with his tattoo and strange birthmark seems to have it.

“C’mon pretty boy, suck my cock. Pucker up those pretty pink lips. You know you want to.” Joe and two of his friends move toward Dean who lashes out, bloodying the nose of one of them, before he gets tackled to the ground. Dean is in a frenzy fighting back. He kicks, punches, scratches, and is as punishing as he can be while outnumbered by four bigger teens. He tells them he’ll bite off the dick of anyone who places it near him, baring his teeth and suffering several punishing blows to his head and face. He blackens one kid’s eye, breaks another’s nose, and kicks hard against another’s knee, sending him howling to the ground. Dean can no longer tell who is doing what for sure, but he feels someone pulling at his buttocks, and there are fingers…

Dean keeps struggling, and biting at the hand someone has over his mouth trying to yell for help. The hand slips when Dean applies a punishing wrist lock. Dean yells as he kicks at that kid’s head and scrambles into the corner of the shower, a trapped tiger, wild and dangerous.

His friends from auto shop, George and Ricky, had heard the ruckus and ran to get coaches to help break this up. While in his mind the assault was endless, it took less than five minutes. The coaches called the campus police officer and the assistant principal, who grabbed Mr. Roberts as they all descend on the locker room.

The four older boys all required medical attention. One has lost two teeth; two have black eyes and broken noses. Joe’s face has also suffered – and he cannot move his head from a possible neck injury and his wrist is swollen. The authorities know the boy in the shower, the kid with a split lip and panicked look is the real victim, but they are amazed at the amount of carnage he doled out.

Into the middle of this chaos, Sam comes bursting in. Dean’s friends remembered that the kid’s brother was supposed to be there in the Impala to pick him up. They had run into the parking lot to find him, knowing they’d recognize the car from Dean’s descriptions. They are almost afraid when they tell the giant because he looks ready to kill. No one knows when or how Mr. Moore, Dean’s godfather, gets there, but he is suddenly and he glares around as though he is ready to kill someone.

Sam pushes everyone away from his brother, who is still completely panicked, lashing out at anyone who comes near him. “Dean, hey, Dean. It’s Sammy.” He murmurs soothingly. “C’mon buddy. Stand down. Let me help.” Much of what Sam is saying is nonsense, just spoken softly, and he gets through to his brother.

“Sam? Sammy?... Need some help here.” Dean mutters. “Let my guard down. They jumped me. Bad touch, Sammy.” Sam is not the only one close enough to hear; the school police officer jots a note and looks grim. He has confirmed from the victim what the witnesses said. These four boys will be charged with felonies.

Cas hands Sam Dean’s clothes, and the taller Winchester gently calms and dresses his brother who is still stunned; Sam can feel his heart racing, and he is sweating but pale, making Sam worry that he is going into shock. Paramedics on the scene, called by the school police officer, offer to take a look at him, but Sam waves them away, saying he’ll take his brother to the hospital.

“Dean, C’mon man. I’ll get you out of here. C’mon, Dean. Look at me.” But Dean has closed down and appears dazed. Sam half sobs with anger and frustration as he lifts his brother’s slight body, using a towel to staunch the blood flowing from his nose. Dean’s counselor hands Cas Dean’s backpack as the two hunters head toward the car. Sam wishes the locker room and gym weren’t so crowded with people. He knows the staring is making things worse for his brother. He bundles Dean into the front seat, supported by Cas on the other side as Sam heads to the local hospital.


	17. Chapter 17

There’s a window in the emergency room exam cubicle Dean is in, a room with a view, and the window has blinds, left open for no apparent reason. The blinds, like the thin cotton curtains separating this exam room from nine more just like it, are semblances of privacy – illusions. Dean’s privacy has been scoured away, like scrubbing the peel off a potato. He feels raw, and like the exam violated him again. He can hear his brother with the doctors, police, and school personnel talking about the “incident.” He lies unmoving on the exam table trying to pretend he is anywhere else until the sedative the emergency room doctor injected does its job and he drifts away.

Sam is guarding Dean’s cubicle, knowing all the protection he offers now is too little too late. But this, making them all leave Dean alone right now, is the most he can do to try to make anything come out right from this situation. He authorizes charges filed on Dean’s behalf. Then he glares at Ms. Ortiz, Doctor Davis, Mr. Roberts, and Ms. Melendez as though this is entirely their fault, even though he knows that the blame rests as much on him.

Dean did not want to be at school, begged Sam to bolt with him, just take off. Crap, they had to drug him to get him to go. Sam did that. Dean seemed to prefer being stuck in this regressed body over being forced back to high school. And now look what happened, sleeping pills at night, anti-anxiety medicine by day, a sedative to knock him out. His brother’s guard slipped and Dean will be forced once again to deal with the psychological damage of being sexually assaulted. Sam wishes he could bleach the very idea from his brain.

“We did this to him,” Sam accuses the group. “He didn’t even need to be there. You…” He whirls on Ms. Ortiz and Doctor Davis, “You thought he needed to be around kids his age. Well, that’s really worked out great for him, hasn’t it?"

Sam turns to the school principal and counselor. “And you were supposed to keep him safe…” Sam breaks off. He can’t finish that thought because Sam knows he and Cas should have put Dean’s physical safety above everything else. They were supposed to have his back because he couldn’t defend himself. Sam forgot that some monsters are human.

“Fix this,” Sam says, including all of them. “I am not sending him back there. You all just go away – you’ve done enough.” As the others walk away, Sam looks over at Cas, who is sitting in a plastic chair, hands loosely drooping, shoulders slumped. “Cas, as soon as I can I’m taking Dean out of here…”

In his head he hears the echo of the words he just uttered to the group: “just go away – you’ve done enough.” It’s stuck in his head and he hears it in his brother’s voice.

Cas looks up at Sam. “As soon as we leave, I will heal his physical wounds; but I am worried Sam.” Sam nods. He’s worried too. He wants to go back in and stand next to his brother. He wants to physically be able to comfort him, but Dean hasn’t wanted anyone to touch him, and he told them to go away and leave him alone in a flat monotone, like he couldn’t find the strength to be angry or upset.

The attackers are on the other side of this emergency room, separated by two glass walls and a narrow corridor, Sam can watch as their parents sometimes step from behind their curtained cubicles to talk to the police officers there, to school administrators, their lawyers, their doctors. He hopes to see them led away in handcuffs soon. He swallows a flash of anger that has him wanting to go tear them apart, knowing that he can’t or wouldn’t. He turns his back and slumps into the seat next to Castiel, two silent sentinels staring at a closed curtain.

When Dean wakes in the early morning when the sun just starts to cross the horizon, it’s in his bed at house on Padre Island. He’s in no physical discomfort, so he figures Cas used angel mojo on him. The physical stuff was never that much to begin with. His brother and the angel are sitting on either side of his bed. Sam has his head at an awkward angle drooling onto Dean’s bedspread. Dean wants to push his hair out of his face and tell him everything will be fine; but he’s not sure it will, and the part of him that lies so glibly seems to be missing right now.

Dean turns his head to catch the angel’s eyes. Cas’s look is stoic, as though he expects the older Winchester brother to yell, complain, to do something about him sitting there, caught watching him sleep again. Dean’s eyes slides away and he gets out of bed quietly to lock himself in the bathroom.

Taking care of business quickly, Dean then starts a shower as hot as he can stand. Dean finds he can’t close his eyes under the water. And the whole thing is making him hyperventilate. He jumps out, towels off, and redresses in the clothes he had on because he can’t walk out into his room undressed. He takes two of the sleeping pills in his medicine cabinet, and two anti-anxiety pills for good measure. Dean has to talk himself into leaving the bathroom at all. How’s he supposed to sleep, anyway, with them staring at him?

He slips out the door and across the hall to the room Charlie used when she visited. He locks the door, knowing his brother could open it in two seconds, and he knows locked or not, Cas could get in, but he hopes they’ll respect his privacy. He climbs into the bed and pulls the covers over his head, waiting for sleep’s oblivion to hide him. Maybe when he wakes up he’ll feel more like he wants to face anyone.

The phone ringing in his pocket wakes Sam a few hours later. He jabs buttons to silence it before it wakes Dean then he realizes Dean isn’t there.

“He’s asleep across the hall,” Cas answers before Sam asks. “He had a panic attack earlier when he took a shower and he took sleeping pills to go back to sleep.”

Sam rubs his aching neck. “You could have stopped him. It’s not the healthiest way to cope.” Sam grouses at him.

“There are worse ways,” Cas answers. “Sleep can be healing, and your brother really wants to be left alone. We need to allow him as much privacy as we can.” He stands. “I have been considering our options, and I have something left to try. I’ll be back when he wakes up. You should try to sleep too, Sam. He’ll need you when he awakens.” With a flutter of wings, Cas is gone, and Sam decides he’s probably right.

As he shuffles around working out the kinks from falling asleep in a chair from his back and neck, Sam decides to look in on his brother. When he finds the door knob locked, he pulls out his pocket knife and unlocks it in one swift motion, letting himself in the room quietly. He checks his brother’s pulse, a little worried that Dean has taken sleeping pills, but Dean seems to be fine, just sleeping deeply while hugging a pillow. Sam straightens the blankets and pulls them up over Dean’s shoulders. He strokes his fingers through his soft hair, but pulls back when Dean flinches at being touched.

When Sam stumbles out of bed around noon, he decides it’s time to get some food into both of them. It has been at least 24 hours since they ate, and that can’t be helping, especially when the doctor last week already said Dean was underweight. He checks the internet news and winces to see an account of the attack by the local station. Four students arrested for sexual assault at local high school, the headline reads. Sam scans to make sure the account doesn’t name his brother, and he sighs with relief that it the victim isn’t identified except as a minor boy.

As Sam makes eggs, toast, and bacon for the both, as well as coffee and pouring two big glasses of milk, he listens to voice mails from the principal, the CPS caseworker, and the school counselor. He decides to call back after he gets a better idea of how Dean is doing. He arranges breakfast for them both on a tray and carries it up to the room Dean is sleeping in still. Sam sets the tray on the nightstand and pulls a desk chair over next to it. He walks to the windows at the front of the house and pulls open the curtains allowing the bright day to light up the room.

“Dean, hey, bro. Wake up, man. Time to eat something.” Sam shakes Dean’s shoulder and jumps back as his brother springs up swinging a hunting knife he had hidden under the pillow. Dean scrambles up, getting his feet under him, and crouches on the bed. He blinks sleep-filled eyes and lowers the knife when he recognizes his brother.

“Locked door didn’t tell you anything, Sam?” Dean growls.

Sam snorts. “Like you thought that flimsy lock made any difference.” The taller man has one goal right now. He wants to get something nourishing in his brother. Talking would be a bonus and it can wait until Dean brings it up. Food can’t. “It’s time to eat something.”

“No thanks. Not hungry.”

Sam expected that answer. “Here, just drink some milk then.” Sam holds out the glass and waits expectantly. Dean takes it and gulps it down, more because he is thirsty than any desire for nourishment. Sam accepts the glass back. “Cup of coffee?” He offers next.

Dean glares. “Kinda counterproductive to me going back to sleep, don’t’cha think?”

Sam avoids answering by stuffing food from his own plate in his mouth. Dean narrows his eyes at him to show he knows that it’s a ploy. “I don’t want to talk about it, Sam.” He’s making this as plain as he can, just so his brother understands that the topic is off limits. “I’m not talking,” Sam answers around another mouthful, somehow managing to look stubborn while chewing.

“I’m going back to sleep,” Dean says, again in a just-stating-the-facts tone. Sam makes a noncommittal noise, and takes another bite. He holds out a piece of bacon to his brother, like he’s luring a stray cat. “Go away, Sam.” Dean is still not putting a lot of emphasis in his voice, so Sam ignores him, takes a big bite of his toast. He’s been dealing with Dean for years, and he figures he’ll be able to tell if he pushes his brother too far.

“Why are you still here?” Dean’s starting to sound angry. “I want you to leave me alone, Sam.” He finally moves from where he’s been crouching the entire time. So, it’s turning his back on his brother to sit on the edge of the bed with his arms folded across his chest defensively (knife’s gone, Sam notes) to stare out the window. Sam counts this as a win for responsiveness.

Dean clears his throat. “I’m done with the high school thing, Sam.”

“Agreed.” Sam answers, picking up his mug of coffee. Dean whirls with a surprised look. He had expected to be told to suck it up and act like a man that he needed to get “back on the horse” and not be a drama queen. To not give in to his fears. He’s been telling himself that in his head since he woke up. “Excuse me?” Dean practically squeaks, freaking adolescent vocal chords.

“I agree. I’m sorry I didn’t listen, I’m sorry for what happened, and I’m ready to take off outta here if that’s want you want. Whatever you want. This is all my fault, and I’m sorry.” Sam can’t put it any more clearly.

Dean levels his gaze at Sam. “I told you I’m not talking about this, Sam. And I’m not. But you can’t blame yourself. What happened wasn’t your fault, none of this is. You’ve been doing the best you can. I’m the one who fucked up near a fairy. I’m the one who let my guard down at the school. Not your fault. Got that?”

Sam is glad to hear Dean’s voice growing stronger, his big brother instincts kicking in; and he feels slightly guilty about manipulating his brother, but not enough to stop. “I’m glad you don’t hate me for what happened, Dean, but I should have listened to you. And you kicked ass in that confrontation, Dean. You sent all four of them to the hospital.” He holds out a different piece of bacon and this time Dean takes it. He stuffs it in his mouth and chews, keeping an assessing look at his brother.

“You know this ain’t fooling me, right?” Dean states matter-of-factly. “Pretty blatant manipulation, Sammy.” The younger Winchester shrugs.

“You know we need to talk, right?” Sam’s as matter-of-fact as Dean had been earlier. “And you know you can’t hide in bed with the covers over your head, so get up and we’ll talk about getting the hell out of here.” Sam picks up both plates, handing his brother one more strip of bacon before heading back downstairs.


	18. Chapter 18

Sam counts it as his second win of the day when twenty minutes after he heads back downstairs, Dean follows. Well, at least he’s out of bed, Sam thinks, figuring dressed in something other than flannel pants and a t-shirt might be pushing his brother too far.

Instead of joining his brother at the kitchen table, where Sam is set up with his laptop and smart phone, Dean slides into the living room and curls up on the couch under a throw blanket. Not a big accomplishment then, Sam continues his mental dialogue, but he’s awake, downstairs, and responsive…not bad for less than 24 hours since the assault. Of course Sam, thinks, that’s Dean Winchester, the badass hunter, he’s not going to let this get to him…but even in Sam’s thoughts those words sound hollow.

“Hey, Dean, you want to join me in here? I’ve got to call some people back.”

“What people?” Dean’s head is barely out from under the throw. All that is visible is his hair still tousled from sleep and bright green eyes that have a wary look.

“Police, school, doctor,” Sam’s ticking them off a list.

“No. Think I’ll stay here.” Then more forcefully, like a warning, “I am not going back there, Sam.”

“Heard you the first time, Dean. Don’t worry, jerk. I’ve got this.” It makes Sam sad that his brother doesn’t call him a bitch in return. Sam’s a little startled when his brother walks behind him to pour a cup of coffee and carry over with him to the table, but he gives him an encouraging grin, wishing his brother allowed hugs more frequently than the latest return from death.

Dean sits there silently staring at the table, both hands wrapped around the coffee mug as Sam makes his calls. It’s a little strange to be talking about him to these strangers while his brother sits silent and still as a statue right next to him. Sam repeats important tidbits out loud for his brother’s benefit. The four attackers are all old enough to be charged as adults; Sam learns this from the police. They have made bail, and the state education code says they can resume school because they haven’t been convicted of any crime yet. Dean takes a gulp of his coffee on that news.

From Ms. Ortiz, Sam repeats an offer of immediate counseling sessions and a list of signs and symptoms of depression following sexual assault. Dean becomes more fascinated with the wood grain as Sam taps the keys of his computer to bring up the website she recommends. Sam frowns reading how loss of appetite, lethargy, and sleeping to much all show up as warning signs. Sam tells Ms. Ortiz what he learned from the police, and he repeats that Dean will not be returning to high school.

Dean’s head lifts, as do his eyebrows, as Sam talks to her about Dean enrolling in classes online and completing college credits. When Sam ends the phone conversation, Dean almost looks animated. “Sammy, you could do that. I mean even if we’re traveling and hunting, you could still do that.”

Sam snorts. Figures, it’s so typical of Dean to be looking after him even in the middle of a crisis. “I’d miss getting to interact with the professors and other students, Dean.” Sam wishes he could take that back when the light leaves Dean’s eyes again and he’s left staring at the uncombed tangle of hair, as Dean resumes his staring contest with the table.

The third call, to Doctor Davis, is pretty awkward. Sam doesn’t want to repeat what she is saying out loud. She warns him to get all the pills and anything else Dean could hurt himself with out of Dean’s immediate area. She says to make sure he takes his anti-anxiety meds because this new stressor may be the one to send his brother over the edge. She recommends that he admit Dean to an adolescent psychiatric facility if he shows symptoms of depression, and – as the least she feels she can do – she says she is sending all the paperwork to the school excusing Dean from attendance.

As Sam hangs up from that one, he doesn’t meet his brother’s eyes. Instead he is already trying to figure out how to disarm his brother and where to hide the pills. Speaking of which, he needs to make sure Dean takes the anti-anxiety pills.

“If he internalizes this. If he doesn’t get help. Well, people frequently turn to alcohol or drug abuse, or have suicidal tendencies when earlier traumas are ignored.” Sam hears her, and knows how true that is about his brother.

Whether he heard more than Sam thought he could, or he was just doing that weird brother telepathy they sometimes did, Dean says, “I’m not taking them Sam. They make me let my guard down.”

“You took some this morning,” Sam retorts.

“I hadn’t had a chance to think then.” Dean’s voice is sure, like he’s confident that he’s making the right decision in this. He catches Sam’s eyes. “Unless you think I’m using that as a way to deflect my own guilt in this?”

Sam narrows his eyes at his brother. “You weren’t guilty of anything in this.” He wonders if there’s any way to rewrite a history of taking the blame in his brother. Shakes his head and decides that while his brother is down here, he could go collect all the pills and weapons. When he looks back at his brother he hopes his thoughts aren’t apparent in his eyes because he is seriously thinking he may need to put Dean on suicide watch.

Making his way upstairs, Sam uses the bathroom and splashes some water on his face. He still can’t believe what he’s thinking as he pockets the pill bottles from the medicine cabinet before opening the door to find his brother leaning against the wall outside the door. Dean has changed into sweat pants, and has added socks and running shoes. He has an inscrutable expression on his face and the flat psychopath stare he gets when he’s angry. He pushes past Sam and shuts the bathroom door.

The taller Winchester moves on into the bedrooms, looking for knives, guns or other weapons. He gathers them into duffel.  He can’t find his brother’s favorite hunting knife, and he figures Dean moved it when Sam was in the restroom. He snags Dean’s keys to the Impala too. When he turns, he finds Dean standing there watching. As Sam heads toward the garage, Dean follows, still not saying anything. Sam locks everything in the trunk of the Impala and pockets the keys. This time there’s no mistaking the anger in Dean’s eyes when Sam turns to him.

“Dean,” Sam starts, it’s a plea for understanding. He’s cut off.

“Sam.” Dean’s response makes his name an accusation of betrayal. Then he heads for the front door of the house. Sam hurries to get ahead of him. He blocks the front door. “Sam, get the fuck out of my way.”

Sam shifts a little, but not enough to allow Dean to get by him. “Where are you going?”

Dean snorts. “Well since it would be pretty suicidal to smash you in the face while you’re like a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier, Sam, I thought I’d go run to get rid of some of the anger I’m feeling right now. I mean, if that’s okay. If I have your fucking permission to leave.”

“Wait a minute while I change, and I’ll run with you.” Sam is trying to reason with him.

Through gritted teeth, Dean says, “Defeats the purpose, Sam. And I don’t require a body guard.” Dean pushes past him and heads out the door. Sam watches as he heads toward the beach. Then he rushes up to the room to change as quickly as he can.

When Dean reaches the Bob Hall Pier, he decides he needs to slow a little. The beach is empty and he starts down the seemingly endless miles of coast along the Gulf of Mexico at a fast jogging pace instead of the racing strides he used to get there. He’s not even thinking of anything except where his feet will land. He runs until he feels like he can’t go any farther, maybe ten miles in all.

As Dean stops and looks around he can’t even make out the high rise hotels on the beach by the pier. The Gulf is on his left, endlessly empty; on his right are miles of sand dunes and wetlands. No houses are built this side of the park road that leads to the National Seashore. When he screams, he only disturbs the seabirds that rise squawking. He screams again, angry, hurt, sad, betrayed, it all flows out of him until his throat hurts. He sits down then, pulling up his knees to stare off across the Gulf.

Here he doesn’t feel trapped. Here he can think.

Dean takes a deep breath of the salty air as he thinks it was pretty damned dumb of him to try to physically outrun his past. It kept up, and is still right here with him. He shifts to be able to watch the tall grass behind him. When he sees two coyote staring at him, he takes the hunting knife from the back of his waistband where he had clipped it, and flicks it open hoping they’ll come at him to give him something tangible to fight.

The coyotes slink away, and Dean snorts. Figures, he can’t even catch a break from this emotional knot in his stomach by having some physical threat to respond to. Winchester luck, he thinks, reflecting on his life. The only thing he feels like he didn’t completely ruin is Sam, and Sam wants out again. And Dean, Dean wants it to end.

His do-over already sucks about as much as his old life did.

“Okay, fairy lady. We need to talk.” Dean yells.

The air shimmers in front of him, and the Sylph arrives.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning again - talks of depression and suicide.

In alchemy, the symbol for air is a triangle, point side up, dissected one third of the way down with a straight line. In Tarot, air is represented as swords or wands, depending on the deck. Aquarius, Dean’s astrological sign, is one of the three air signs. In Enochian lure, Raphael is the Archangel of air, and he supposedly has some power to summon or compel.

The Winchester brothers have spent days researching fairies and elementals. Sylphs are fairies, of a sort; specifically they are air elementals – immortal representations of pure power. Like Death, they can be bound, if you can find the right ingredients, if you have enough magic of your own. Air elementals are considered extremely mobile spirits, sharp, penetrating, changeable, both masculine and feminine, and are associated with blood – both are said to be wet and hot.

Like fairies, iron will repel them; silver – like his favorite hunting knife – will burn them. Unlike fairies, they are not distracted by spilled salt or sugar, and they aren’t lured by cream.

Knowing any this will not help Dean. He’s going to have to try talking to it. He decides, if needs be, he’ll throw in a little reasoning, some cajoling, could end up begging. He wants his life back, so he can pretend that this one just one more sexual assault on his dignity when he was a kid. Stow it away with the others and not talk about it. Then he and Sam can get the hell out of Corpus Christi, out of Texas. Whatever it takes.

Dean scrambles to his feet. “Umm, hello, uh…I don’t know your name.”

“Names have their own magic. I do not share mine, Dean Winchester, now known as Dean Singer.”

Dean licks his lips to try to get enough moisture to speak. He wishes he’d been smart enough to bring water on his run. “Okay, so not a true name, just something I can call you by right now.”

“I will answer to Aether, Dean Winchester, and I came when you called this time because your emotions are fierce and penetrating. We do not have long to talk because even now your brother hunts you, and your Christian angel stalks me. I did you favor for favor, did I not?”

The sylph shimmers in the afternoon sun, ephemeral, flickering like she could be in an old motion picture. Dean wonders how he missed her otherworldliness so completely when he first met her. “Aether, well, you did return a favor. I just worded it badly. I wanted long lives, not an age regression.”

“Do you not like how supple your body is? How free it is from the aches from years of abuse?”

Dean can’t help but stretch at that. It is nice not to feel his joints and bones creak and ache with wear and tear of hitting too many walls too hard too many times, even since Cas rebuilt him. He plans to be careful and polite with this elemental – like Death, like Cas full of millions of Purgatory souls - the spirit is more powerful than he can hope to defeat. Besides, this was his fault, not hers. “I’m sorry Aether, sometimes we humans wish for things without thinking it all the way through. I’ve left myself open to too many problems – my life isn’t a safe place for a kid. It never was.”

Aether tilts her head; it’s reminiscent of that thing Cas does when he’s puzzled by human behavior. “You have been tied too tightly to the events of heaven and hell. Events will always arise to prepare you for the destiny. I see that you have been tormented and always will be as long as your spirit is entwined with the Christian mythos.” She shakes her head. “I gave you what you asked for as reward, not punishment.”

Shrugging softly, Dean says, “Yeah, well, I guess I’m destined to live a short, sucky life and die bloody.”

The sylph moves closer, wafting on the ocean breeze. She sees a deep yearning to be free in him. “You could be free. You could come with me, leave this plane. We can be as we wish, always together, never alone, creating and destroying at will, our will. Why stay here when they have put you through fire, buried you in earth, and drowned you in sorrow? Why stay? Come with me, be air, be truly free.”

Something in Dean is perched and ready to say yes. He wants, no he covets, freedom. No weight on his shoulders, no responsibility to weigh him down, no attachments to tether him to the life of a wandering hero. “I never have been a very good hero,” he murmurs. Then, torn back to his reality, he says simply, “Sam.”

“I will not rush you this time. The second time the golden dawn breaks the sky, meet me here. I will grant you either a return to your old body, scars and all, or an escape to where you will be cherished for all that you are. But you must decide. If you do not show up – things will remain as they are. Until then.”

Dean glances down the beach and sees Sam jogging towards him, dogged, determined, tagging along after him because that’s what they were raised to do. Sam chooses freedom as often as he can, Dean thinks. I tie him to this horrible life. I drag him into this. Without me, Sam is free. Sam plops down beside Dean on the sand. Takes a daypack off his shoulder and removes two bottles of water. He hands one to Dean. “Long run even for me.” Sam offers in lieu of a greeting.

“Perks of being a kid, Sammy.” Dean sounds a little too cheerful, given the way things had been between them earlier. Sam studies his brother.

“What are you so happy about?” Sam’s not sure what to make of this mood his brother is in. Relieved? Dean seems as though he has stopped worrying, and left his anger behind.

“What? I wanted water; you show up, like a magic Genii … the good kind like Barbara Eden, but not as cute…and give me water. What’s not to like?” 

Sam can tell when Dean is covering things up. It’s actually even easier to do so when his brother is wearing a younger face. Something is up. Something Dean is not telling Sam, and in light of the warnings from the suicide information page, this has Sam really worried. One of the symptoms of depression turning to suicide on the website was “Sudden, unexpected switch from being very sad to being very calm or appearing to be happy.”

“Dean, man, you scared me. I can’t … I’m not as mature as I used to be either you know. I need you to tell me what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking.” Sam is fumbling his way through this, but he knows his actions earlier pissed his brother off, and he’s struggling to find the right way to handle this. He needs his big brother to help him. “Dean, I really hope you’re not suicidal because I can’t do this without you.”

Dean avoids Sam’s eyes, stares across the gulf watching the sun’s lowered winter light turn the water silver. It is so peaceful here. He turns back to his brother. “You wouldn’t have to do it without me. You could go live a normal life, hell, go back to college, if it weren’t for me. I was already an anchor little brother. This me, I’d drag you under caring for me because I’m messed up.”

What does any loving family member do when someone they love expresses a desire to die? The website says don’t argue, don’t tell them they have so much to live for, don’t shrug it off. Hide the means, like weapons and drugs, and if it is imminent, take the person to an emergency room. Sam wonders if he stands a chance of dragging Dean to an emergency room, and decides to ignore the advice and try arguing with him.

“Did you like Hell that much, Dean? You want to go back?” Damn, Sam thinks to himself. He didn’t mean for the words to sound so angry. “Dean…” He tries to be more gentle. “Just, don’t, okay? I…no matter how twisted your head is right now…I am not better off without you. You’re my family. Please. Don’t leave me alone here.”

Eyes widening, Dean darts a quick glance at Sam. “But Sam, you want to go back to college. You want to leave me again. You want your apple pie life that has never included me.” Sam’s surprised he actually has Dean talking, even if what he’s saying drives knives into his heart. Sam has never wanted life with no Dean in it.

“You’ve got that wrong, big brother,” Sam says out loud. “Yeah, I went away to college – a long time ago, but I never wanted to cut you out of my life. And the times I haven’t had you in my life since then…when you were in Hell, and when you were in Purgatory…I didn’t do so great by myself. It took everything I had to just keep going.”

Dean shifts again, and Sam watches emotions flit across his unguarded face, sorrow, fear, an achingly deep pain, maybe an ounce of hope. The green eyes that turn to him shine with unshed tears and love, the same unshakeable love Dean has given Sam his entire life. Then he says something that stuns Sam.

“But Sam, what if I have a way to go, to be out of pain, out of this life, but not have to worry about heaven or hell? Do you want me to turn that down?”


	20. Chapter 20

The walk along the sands back toward the pier is quiet with both of the brothers thinking too hard. Sam is wondering if he can be so selfish as to ask Dean to stay; Dean wonders if he is selfish enough to leave.

Sam steers them into the Island Italian Restaurant, figuring they can eat before they head back to the house. After a brief hubbub where Sam refuses to order beer for Dean to drink, their meal orders, both placed by Sam arrive. Sam digs into his Seafood Medley, while Dean deconstructs meatballs without ever putting anything in his mouth. Sam knows; he’s been paying close attention.

“So what’s the deal with you, Dean? You think there’s some way to fix this situation or are you giving up? Going to throw in the towel?” Sam’s been chewing over what his brother said, and it still sounds like some kind of suicide. It sounds like Dean becoming something other than Dean, and Sam doesn’t like it. Yeah, sometimes he wished his brother would change – glancing at him from the corner of his eye, he snorts to himself. He wishes his brother would grow up a little.

Dean’s fork clatters a bit as he drops it and his pretense of eating. “I’m not hungry,” Dean pushes back a little from the table and glares around the room angrily. “Sam, these people are talking about me; they’re talking about the ‘incident’ at the high school.” Dean’s voice rises a little, and as much as he wants to just be angry, Sam sees a sheen of sweat break out on Dean’s forehead and his face takes on a waxy tone. “I’m going to puke.” He covers his mouth and heads out the door. Several pairs of eyes follow him before all their attention is taken up by a young giant who stands so fast his chair falls over. Sam glares around the room but is stopped before he can get to the door to follow his brother.

The waitress, who looks like a high school student herself, approaches Sam. “Is the kid okay? We were talking about him, I’m sorry.” She fidgets a little, then says to a point about a foot beneath Sam’s eyes. “Joe? And those other guys from the baseball team? They’ve been bad news for a while. Real bullies.” She hesitates. “My Mom and Dad, over there,” gesturing toward the cash register area. “They, umm, we… We were glad to see the kid looks okay.” But then she forces herself to look directly at Sam. “But I know sometimes the hurt is on the inside. So, can you tell him thanks from me. He’s my hero. Oh, and no charge for the meal.”

When Sam heads out after his brother, wondering which way Dean bolted now, he finds his brother standing right outside in the pitted parking lot, staring off at the sunset. “Dean, damnit, you scared me.” Sam manages not to be yelling as he sees his brother scrubbing at his face, but not quite managing to hide the tear tracks. He reaches to pull his brother for a hug, but Dean sidesteps him to avoid being touched. Sam’s hand drops, then he motions for them to continue walking back to the house.

“They were talking about you, Dean. They were talking about how you took on a band of bullies and won. The waitress? She called you her hero. Seems you weren’t the only one they’d been picking on.”

Dean gives a short hiccup of a laugh. “Yeah, that’s me. The big damn hero.”

Sam manages to get his arm around Dean’s shoulders this time, and he isn’t planning to let go as the walk the mile back to the house. Inside Cas must have decided the Moore’s would have to extend their piety to forgiveness because he is using four different colors of spray paint to make symbols on the outer walls and over the windows and doors. He’s chanting, “I bind and reject you all spirits, and I command you to leave! I seal this place, and all its inhabitants.” He barely spares a glance at them as they enter, but he growls…no words, just an angry growl.

“Umm, hello to you too, Cas,” Sam says shepherding his brother into the house by refusing to let go of him.

Cas keeps chanting. “I bind and reject all spirits in the air, in the wind, in the fire, in the water, under the water, in the netherworld, in the elements and in all forces of nature.”

“Sam,” Cas returns “… and you, Dean Winchester.”

Cas turns to glare. Then he continues his chant. “I bind and I reject all spirits of confusion, all spirits of division, all spirits of disruption, and all spirits of fear, worry, and anxiety, all spirits of disbelief, spirits of unforgiveness, resentment, and anger, spirits of deaf and dumb, spirit of disobedience, and spirit of retaliation.”

“Something wrong, Cas?” Sam asks, since his brother and the angel have locked glares and no one is saying anything.

Castiel turns away from Dean to concentrate on his sigils and symbols. “I suggest you get some strong rope as your brother is quite adept at escaping handcuffs.” As Dean goes to dart away, the angel uses his superhuman strength and speed to capture him.

“Sam!” Dean yells, expecting his brother to come back him up against the angel, even if it isn’t very likely they can defeat him without trapping him in holy oil or stabbing him with an angel blade. What Dean doesn’t expect is for Sam to be all reasonable to Cas.

“Why do you think we need to tie Dean up, Cas?”

Cas has Dean, who is still trying to kick and squirm away, held up with his arms pinned about four inches off the floor. He turns to face Sam. “He is planning to commit suicide by accepting an offer made by the Sylph.”

A half-hour later, Dean is tied as comfortably as Sam could make him without giving him any leeway to escape; he is disarmed and angry. Sam is nursing a split lip where his brother head butted him during the tussle. “Sonuvabitch!” Dean is struggling against the ropes. “You frikkin’ back-stabbing over-reacting idiots,” Dean spits out angrily. “I swear your ass is grass as soon as I get out of these ropes.” He falls quiet for a moment, then in a more reasonable tone he starts again. ”You’re always going on about how we should talk, Sam, but this does not make me want to talk.”

“Well, Dean, since you want to talk, go for it.” Sam’s still nursing his split lip. “Maybe you’d like to explain why you aren’t eating, not talking, running off when I confront you, and meeting the air elemental on the sly making deals.”

Dean snorts. “You make it sound so planned, Sam. It’s not like that.”

Cas comes in from the other room where he has finished his ritual. “Then tell us how it is, Dean, I heard your prayer on the beach, the one where you prayed for death before meeting with that creature. That is not acceptable, nor do I think you are fairly categorizing what your brother said. He did not say that he wanted to leave you. Frankly, Dean, I find your contemplation of this beneath you.”

“When’s the last time you actually ate?” Sam demands.

“Way to come out of left field, Sam. I mean, what the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s a symptom, Dean! A symptom of someone who is suicidal. Like feelings of self-loathing, sleeping too much, being so quiet, refusing to talk about the incident…”

Dean interrupts, “There was no frikkin incident! He touched me or they did, so what! I did a lot worse than that myself when I was this age before – for money. I thought you understood from what Cas said. I’m not some little shrinking virgin who’s never been touched, Sam. I don’t have any right to act like I’ve got the moral high ground. I don’t, okay! I never did…” He chokes up a little, takes a deep breath. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about this, Sam.”

Sam takes a moment to get his thoughts in order. He’s not quite sure how to break through his brother’s self-loathing, but, damnit, he’s going to try, and this is the best time to do it. Dean has offered some insight on how he is viewing the incident, wrong-headedly, Sam thinks, but at least it’s out in the open. Might as well have this out while his brother is literally a captive audience.

“Okay, there’s so much wrong with what you just said, Dean, that it’s going to take me a little bit to respond.”

Dean groans. “Oh, God, Sam, just shoot me, please. I can’t do this affirmation shit. I do not want to talk about my feelings with you.” He struggles some more against the ropes and slumps, sorry he ever taught his brother how to tie a knot. “And what’s your excuse, feather butt? Just seemed like a good day to ambush me?”

Castiel tilts his head at Dean. “I saw you meet the air elemental, Dean. I know what she offered you. I know that you were praying for it all to end before she appeared to you. I believe both those options are suicide; both will end your existence as a man, as a hunter, as Sam’s brother.” Cas looks at him intently. “And as my friend.”

Sam turns to Cas. “What did she offer him? He said it was a way to make sure he never had to go back to hell.”

“Technically that is correct, Sam. She offered to make him part of her, an air elemental. His spirit would join with hers and never die. But Dean, this one, would be dead. He would no longer be your brother and probably would soon forget this existence at all.”

Dean’s getting angry again and squirming. Only his brother’s restraining hand keeps him on the couch. “If you two would quit talking about me - me, right here - you’d find out she offered me a third option.” That catches both their attention. “She offered me my old life back.” Dean’s hoping that he can completely change the subject. Stop the talk of whether he’s suicidal or self-loathing. They can just go back to the truce they had going before this whole frikkin fairy incident twelve days ago.

But Sam’s not letting this chance to talk go. He hadn’t even known about Dean’s adolescent foray into prostitution before the fairy age-regressed his brother, but it needs to be addressed because it has obviously played a part in Dean’s lack of self-esteem. And he did it for Sam, so Sam should get to have some say in whether Dean beats himself up about it. “We are going to talk, Dean, because you are letting something you did as a child, out of desperation, out of love for me, affect the way you think about yourself.” Sam starts.

“I swear, Sam, if you keep talking about this I am going to punch you in the face as soon as I’ve got my regular body back, so it’ll hurt more…”

“Shut up, Dean. I’m talking right now.” Sam knows that wasn’t an empty threat, but it’s actually encouraging because Dean is making plans for a future. “Don’t make me gag you.”

“…I will fold your stork legs and shove your head…”

“I get the picture, Dean. But we are talking, and then you are eating, or you can just stay there tied up until …”

Cas bellows. “Enough both of you!” Green and hazel eyes turn from glaring at each other to meet stern cerulean ones. “Sam, your brother will not commit suicide as long as you need him. Dean, even if you had reason to think so little of yourself, no matter the truth. You have paid the price. You have been to Hell and to Purgatory. This childish drama is unnecessary. Just give us the details of the sylph’s offer.”

Dean glares, but explains he must meet with the sylph at the beach sunrise on the fourteenth day to make his choice or the spell will be permanent. "So are you two ass hats going to keep me tied up until then?" He can't move away as Cas places two fingers on his forehead to send him into a deep dreamless sleep.

Cas and Sam don’t keep Dean tied up, or even asleep, but they do have someone at his side because Sam doesn’t want to take his brother’s emotional trauma or suicidal tendencies lightly. He also orders food his brother likes and watches him eat. Dean is half-angry about it and partially gratified. He enjoys feeling loved and cherished, even when he protests. He gets aggravated with Sam’s mother-henning a little. “Sam, you know I never would leave you, don’t you? Can you lay off the clinginess?” 

All three of them are on the beach when the sun rises on day fourteen and Dean chooses life as he knows it over a do-over, or eternal life as an air spirit.

There are no happily ever afters for the Winchester brothers, but 30 hours later when they hit the road in their 1967 Impala traveling away from Corpus Christi as two men in their 30’s, they are fairly happy. Dean has one less secret weighing him down, and Sam has been convinced to try on-line education. The bank had no way to tell that the money deposited by Dean and Sam Singer disappeared, so they had one clean account to draw on for emergencies.

They were back on the hunt.


End file.
